


a spirit who's spent in death (do your weeping now)

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dave Is Alive, Disassociation, Gen, Good Brother Luther Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus uses sign language, Luther's a good guy here okay, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Touch Aversion, modern dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-04-03 17:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21491803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: There's something off about him - more so than usual. The way he moves, the way he reacts - or, the way he doesn't - the way he looks at things as if he's peering at everything through a rippling pool of water; it's the way in which he sits and in his appearance, too. He moves as if he's a ghost, or as if he might think that he is one.He sits, looking like a corpse among them, pale and wilting like a dead flower, and he hardly says a word. Diego doesn't know what to do. Luther does.
Comments: 670
Kudos: 1585
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms, Semi-Functional Adults





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this introduction!

_It’s winter. A bad one – possibly one of the worst in the past decade, arguably, and Klaus has no money, no shelter, and nothing to help himself. He has the clothes on his back, a remaining gram of weed in his pocket, and a deep, painful cough in his chest._

_The situation is far from ideal. Klaus feels as if he’s pushed the situation as far as he can, further than Ben had wanted him to, and as snow begins to fall, he knows he can’t spend another night on the streets. There’s only one place he can go, though._

_He clambers in through a window, hands shaking as he pulls himself up the fire escape and only just catches himself on the floor, the world spinning. He hardly remembers to pull the window down before staggering into his childhood bed and collapsing onto it._

_“Oh, dear,” says Grace, running her fingertips through his hair. “Look at you; you’re terribly sick. Come on, let me help you.”_

_Reginald stands in his doorway. Klaus has a moment of coherency to think, oh, fuck, before he blacks out again._

_Luther is both excited and disappointed to see him back in the Academy. No doubt he must be lonely, the only member still sticking around, but he steps carefully around Klaus as if testing the waters, cautious of everything. Drugs, partying, lying, thieving, uselessness; he doesn’t get too close because of it all._

_But he’s there when Grace moves him to the infirmary to keep him on some fluids when his cough blossoms into something worse and the withdrawals kick in._

_He had honestly just been hoping to sleep that night and maybe move to the attic and hide out there. Now he’s stuck with Grace, Luther, Pogo and Reginald’s attention all on him._

_As he begins to get a little better, Reginald comes around more. Klaus dreads it every day. _

_Reginald’s there, too, when Klaus sits up in bed and yells at him. He’s there to witness the way his hands flicker blue like static and a few random objects lift into the air, only to clatter noisily to the ground a few moments later._

_Admittedly, he does cooperate with the work on his telekinesis. Partially because Reginald won’t let him not practice it, partially because he can’t leave yet due to the winter raging on, partially because he has telekinesis and he wants to learn about it. He knows it’s only time before more happens, though._

_And it does. After an argument, and Reginald’s pissed enough to manhandle him to the mausoleum. Not that it’s too difficult, because as soon as they got close to it and the screams started, Klaus’ legs turned to jelly and he froze, body stumbling idly closer, unable to protest Reginald’s nudging until he stumbles inside and he snaps out of his daze. _

_Reginald spares no time in closing the doors and locking them before he can throw himself out of the mausoleum._

_They scream at him, and he screams louder. They hound him like dogs and Klaus can’t see anything except for their faces in the darkness. And then he can._

_Blue light glows from his hands, illuminating the dark corners of the mausoleum, and Klaus thinks it’s his shoddy telekinesis acting up with his poor grasp on it. And then something touches him._

_They touch him. _

_When they realise they can touch him, Klaus screams louder. He reaches for the mausoleum doors, trying to shake the blue from his hands, only for bony fingers to drag him back down onto the floor, scratching and clawing and grabbing and pulling at him. _

_The doors open. Light filters in, bathing Klaus in it. The warmth of the morning sun does nothing for him. He doesn’t notice it. He’s not there. Though his chest rises and falls and blood drips from wounds with each unsteady pulse of his heart, he’s not really there. He’s somewhere else, disconnected, safe. _

_When he’s back in his body, so much time has passed. He’s in the Academy. He doesn’t recognise his own hands. The first time he tries to speak, he has a panic attack and leaves again._

_He lets Grace look after him when he can’t do it himself. She makes sure that he at least gets some nutrients, even if it’s not an ideal amount. She makes sure he stays clean, stays hydrated; she manages to coax him out of bed, even if it’s just to sit in the living room and stare at the fire for hours._

_Luther tries to talk to him._

_The second time Klaus tries to speak, all that comes out is wheezed breathing and panicked sobs._

_Reginald backhands him. Klaus can only blink. He doesn’t feel it. _

_Reginald gives up._

_It’s Grace’s idea. Luther had sometimes helped her out in the garden when he had nothing else to do, and when Luther’s on missions he can’t help her with it, so she asks Klaus. And, surprisingly, he manages to do it. He can pull himself back to his body and focus on misting plants with water, of repotting them, fixing soil around them. And then Grace sets up a little garden for him, and Luther helps him get it started. _

_Klaus doesn’t realise how lonely it must have been for Luther. Even if it’s rare that he actually finds it in himself to use his voice, at least Luther remembers sign language like Klaus does, so he can talk to Klaus out loud and Klaus can reply without talking. And sometimes he simply comes in and sits while Klaus stares at the fire, or, most of the time, he helps him garden until it grows into something impressive. When he reads, he reads aloud, and he tells Klaus what Reginald’s doing even if he doesn’t care about that. Reginald’s hardly said more than three sentences to him. _

_He finds his voice again when Luther is rushed home from a mission, on his way to death’s door, but then he loses it again before Luther wakes up, somehow much different than before (Klaus doesn’t know what they had to do to save him) but alive nonetheless._

_Luther withdraws a bit, after that. He doesn’t see him for days. He only sees him at meals, and Luther stays silent and hurries to isolate himself._

_After a month, Klaus knocks on his door. There’s a new potted plant held in his hands, and he raises it slightly, along with his eyebrows. _

_“Want to help?”_

_If nothing else, at least Klaus and Luther grow closer. There’s no competitive nature, no training, no missions to really pin them against one another. No drug addiction to make Luther disappointed in him. Just incidents that haunt them but they deal with together through a growing garden._

_Luther is being sent to the moon. They don’t know how long for. Luther tells him he thinks it is for a year. _

_The day after Luther goes, Reginald sends Klaus away, too. To a facility not unlike one Klaus has been in before, but everything familiar and comforting has been torn away from him and he lets himself drift._

_There is a nurse there. His name is Dave. He gets Klaus settled into his room, into the routine, even when Klaus does little more than blink at him. He doesn’t remember his name for six months. But he’s patient, and understanding, and lets Klaus garden, even if it’s nothing like the one at home. He hopes Grace is keeping it alive._

_He spends a long time there. Too long, he thinks, but he doesn’t really notice time changing anyway. Nonetheless, at some point he has a visitor, and it’s not Grace or Pogo this time. Luther walks in, signs him out, and brings him home._

The flowers are fairing well, but not so much the bonsai tree that’s sat below the window. The tips of the tiny branches are naked, save for a few curling, brown, dead leaves still clinging on, and they only seem to grow further down the branches, healthy greens curling inwards and dying. He isn’t sure what to do with it at this rate. He had tried to keep it well watered and sat in a good area, getting just enough sunlight. Pogo and Luther have both bought him plenty of things to try and groom the plant back to good health, but it seems to simply not be taking and thriving.

With a sigh, Klaus ghosts his pale fingertips over the leaves, ever so gently, and then he stands upright.

The garden he has has been steadily growing since he got it and, truthfully, it’s the only thing he really has pride in or an active interest in. It’s grown too big for him to just let all wither and die now; he’d feel bad. He’s grown attached to the plants to let that happen.

Klaus tips his head to the side slightly, enough so to catch Ben in the corner of his eyes. The small motion is enough to bring his brother’s attention to him.

“Still not taking?” Ben asks him, eyes flicking towards the little tree. Klaus shakes his head with a small sigh slipping past his lips. Ben hums, standing up and sliding to his side. “Maybe it’s just not meant to be. Grace might be able to help it.”

Klaus hums, head tipping to the side. Although Klaus likes to think he’s pretty good with his plants, he knows that Grace can be more precise with her timing and her measurements of everything. Perhaps she might be able to nurse the poor thing back to health. His hand twitches in front of his chest, his own adopted sign to mean _maybe._

It’s dark outside. Unable to sleep, he had retreated to the safe space that is his garden, trying to focus on anything but what his mind kept wandering to, or to simply keep his mind from wandering far away from him again. It’s soothing in this garden, as well as the one he’s started out in the courtyard – though he and Grace work together on that most of the time – and it always does work to get some tension out of his shoulders, to make him calm and focus on something.

He can let the garden die. It relies on him.

He turns to look at the other plants rather than the bonsai tree. He’ll seek out Grace in the morning, he supposes, but there’s no point in doing it now. And plus, he doesn’t quite feel ready to face what lies outside of the garden.

Most of the plants are doing well. Thriving, really, though a couple could do with some extra care, and he makes it a note to keep his eye on them. Just in case, he finds the little water mister set aside and gently sprays over the plants a few times.

“These ones are doing really well,” Ben comments. Klaus turns to look at the ones he’s mentioning and he can’t help the way his lips twitch upwards. He’s gesturing at a bunch of flowers, the ones that had very nearly died and Klaus had struggled to maintain, but here they were, seeming to thrive despite their original fight with Klaus. Ben offers him a gentle smile.

He hears footsteps. He looks up, tensing, but he’s quick to relax at the familiar large form of his brother. Luther still knocks gently on the glass separating them before stepping inside, having to hunch to fit through the tight doorway.

“Hey, Klaus,” he says, and his voice wavers slightly. Though he offers him a smile, Klaus can see that it’s strained. His eyes are slightly red and he’s tense, hands fiddling, looking torn. Klaus picks up on it easily, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

_‘What’s wrong?’ _He asks. Luther looks aside guiltily, then raises a hand. Klaus eyes it, but today has been a good day and he inches closer, enough to silently give Luther permission to rest his hand on his back and guide him out of the little garden. He guides him down the stairs of the eerily silent Academy and right into the living room, flicking on the light and gesturing for him to sit on the couch opposite from the fireplace. Despite his anxiety rising at the obvious stalling Luther’s doing, his lips don’t move and he looks questioningly at him again.

“I… something happened, Klaus,” he begins, and Klaus watches as he tries to steel himself up, shove his emotions down in that way he always does when he mentally berates himself for not being a perfectly strong, fearless leader. Firelight bounces over his face, shadowing his eyes and his cheeks and making him look more haunted. “It’s Dad.”

Klaus tips his head to the side, eyes flicking briefly to the doorway.

“Dad – he… he passed away, Klaus. I found him and… Pogo and Grace, they couldn’t bring him back.”

Klaus’ lips part slightly, letting out a silent sigh. His eyes drift towards the fire for a moment, Luther’s words echoing in his mind. Luther ducks his head forwards to catch his eyes as if he worries that this news might trigger him, so Klaus focuses his eyes back onto his brother.

Klaus outstretches a hand in an offering and Luther hesitates before gently taking it, mindful of how tight he squeezes it.

Reginald is dead. He can’t stop repeating it to himself. The statement evokes a whirlwind of emotions in him that are too much; too strong, too overwhelming for him when he’s been so used to the nothingness he’s felt since that fateful day.

Reginald is dead. The man that haunted every nook and cranny of the Umbrella Academy without having to show his face, the shadow burnt into the back of Klaus’ eyelids, the only living ghost Klaus has ever known (before himself) and a man Klaus would consider calling a monster.

And he is dead.

Klaus looks at Ben, who looks a little afraid, watching Klaus carefully, and then Klaus turns his face to the fire, doesn’t close his eyes, and lets everything drift a little further out of his grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this idea, and I'd love to hear what you think! If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask and I'll do my best to answer them!


	2. all you loved of him lies here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Just some extra info: Luther doesn't know about Ben, or what actually happened to Klaus. Klaus is sober in this too.

"I think the others will come."

Klaus glances up from his untouched breakfast, raising an eyebrow. He shrugs half-heartedly before going back to rearranging the blueberry smile on his pancakes. Luther's already half way through his massive portion. 

"We have to have a funeral for him," Luther says. Klaus shrugs again. He's been on edge since the news of Reginald's death, anxious about turning around and seeing his father's ghost, but he is yet to show himself. 

_'Ideas?' _He asks, and Luther shrugs. 

"He's being cremated. I was thinking we could have something outside; Pogo might want to say a few words. Just pay our respects. Are you okay with that?"

Klaus presses his lips together. He'd prefer to just tend to his garden or listen to either him or Ben read for a while, or perhaps try drawing something, but he knows this is important to Luther. He can suck it up for one night. Unless Reginald actually shows, in which case he might just have to distance himself again even if he knows how much Luther doesn't like seeing him like that. He can't help it. 

Klaus nods his head. Luther eyes him as if searching for any signs of a lie. And then he nods and jabs his fork at Klaus' food. "Try and eat something," he says. Klaus turns to look at the plate and complies, cutting out a piece and disrupting the blueberry frown he made.

###

“Do you think the others will come?”

Klaus glances up at Ben, quirking an eyebrow. Then he shrugs. _‘Did we tell anyone?’ _He asks. Ben makes a face.

“Probably not. I don’t know if Pogo or Luther reached out to anyone,” he admits and he shrugs. Klaus inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Maybe Allison and Vanya. Don’t know if they can reach Diego.”

Klaus grimaces at the mention of Vanya, eyes flicking aside. He can’t help it. He had read her book – or, at least some of it. Of course, she didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know that he’d been living in the Academy for years now, drifting through a variety of stages of awareness, being ignored by Reginald like she had been. They hadn’t spoken in years, and all that her book had had about him was his addiction.

It had almost made him go out and seek another hit, in a cruel way, but he hadn’t been able to stand and he found his mind shutting everything out again as if in some twisted self-defence mechanism.

Luther hadn’t liked the book, but he had found Klaus after reading it and had, according to Ben, been angered further.

He wonders how he actually will cope with the others coming around. He doesn’t understand what gets underneath his skin these days – Grace had made scrambled eggs the morning Reginald took him to the mausoleum, and he can’t handle the smell or the taste of it anymore, even after so long; Pogo, Grace and Luther have learned not to touch him in any way without his permission; echoing footsteps, wind on his neck, on his wrists, his own hands some days, talking. Maybe he’d see his siblings and be too overwhelmed. He doesn’t know.

He looks to the fireplace, seemingly ever alight. He doesn’t know whether or not it calms him down or just makes everything else less important.

He rests his chin on his hands, head tilting to the side.

He’s not seen his siblings in years, sans Ben and Luther, of course. He wonders what they’ll make of him. Will they expect him to be off his face? Expect him to be lying in a gutter? Expect him to be loud?

He flexes his hand, lifting it out so that the firelight catches it, bathing his pale skin in an orange glow. Light flickers over milky scars that his eyes can’t linger on, and his hands shake, a steady tremble.

He jumps as a floorboard groans behind him. He can’t turn around.

“It’s me,” says Luther. He still can’t turn around. Luther comes around, giving him a wide berth, and enters his line of sight, partially blocking out the fire. Klaus doesn’t look at him.

Luther settles onto the floor in front of him. He glances around before reaching for something out of his sight. He comes back with a book in his hands, one he must have been reading lately for he opens it to a marked page and begins to read aloud.

Klaus doesn’t really understand what he’s saying – the words don’t process properly. But it’s fine. It’s not as if he can really stop it when everything slips away anyway.

###

Klaus points at the bonsai tree.

“It doesn’t look like it’s doing too good,” comments Luther with a frown, stepping past him to eye it. He runs a finger gently under one of the small branches. Luther glances back at him. “Do you think it’s done?”

Klaus nods. Luther reaches out gently, carefully plucking it out of its place without disrupting the rest of the plants around it. He holds it out and Klaus takes it from him, and together they file out of the garden and down into the kitchen where Grace is.

“Oh, hello boys,” she greets. She’s standing by the oven, mitts on her hands and watching cookies bake steadily. She frowns at the sight of the wilting bonsai tree in Klaus’ arms and she takes off the oven mitts from her hands, setting them aside so that she can come up and take the bonsai tree, turning it to eye it with calculating eyes.

“Do you think you can fix it?” Luther asks her.

“I’ll see what I can do for it, dear,” she says with a nod, and then she first sets it aside and turns back to her cookies. “I’m baking cookies and they should be done soon. You can help yourself, but leave some for your siblings when they come.”

_‘They’re coming?’ _Klaus asks, looking between Grace and Luther. Grace offers him a gentle smile.

“They should be,” she tells him. “I’ll make dinner for you all later. Do you want to change, dear? I’ll do laundry soon, too.” Klaus knows it’s a subtle hint to remind him that the clothes on his back have probably been there for a while. He spares a brief glance to the clothing on himself, and then he nods. He leaves Luther and Grace in the kitchen, trudging upstairs to his bedroom to fumble for whatever clothes he finds first that feel somewhat comfortable.

Then he trudges to the bathroom, runs a bath, and slides in. The water rises dangerously close to the rim of the tub. He watches the water ripple with his movements, watches how his pale skin matches the porcelain of the tub. He doesn’t think he’s regained any colour to his skin since the mausoleum. As pale as a corpse, he thinks he could probably pass as a ghost. He’d be a good one, too. Silent, unnoticeable, less than a flicker in the corner of one’s eye. His hands look like a ghost’s.

He puts his hands under the water, hurriedly looking away from them and to the wall instead. He counts the tiny tiles along the wall although he already knows how many there are there. Nonetheless, he counts them again. He counts them until he’s almost done and he hears the front door open, groaning downstairs. He blinks, dragging his eyes away from the wall and to the bathroom door. The water feels cold.

With sluggish movements, Klaus pulls the plug on the bath and fumbles for a towel, his movements quiet and muffled as he pulls his clothes back on. He creeps up to the door and opens it silently, enough to poke his head out and peer down the corridor although from where he is he can’t see down the stairs and to the door. He tries to strain his ears to listen. He hears heels tapping, hesitant, and then heading into the kitchen. He takes the chance to avoid it, hurriedly going down the corridor and up more stairs.

“It might be nice to see the others,” Ben says, watching Klaus slide into his garden. He lingers for a moment before going to the back, and he settles right among the flowers and leaves. He watches Ben come close and then settle onto the floor across from him, head tilted to the side, lips pursed as if he is mulling over what to say. Klaus thinks that everyone has to think before speaking to him. He doesn’t like it.

_‘Was it them?’_

Ben shrugs. “I think so. Maybe Allison, by the sounds of it. Want me to check?”

Klaus shrugs carelessly, turning his gaze towards the plants around him. It’s simply comforting to be there. Other than Ben, there’s never been a ghost in his garden. Reginald has never been there, either. It’s his own safe place, untouched by anything bad, and he intends to keep it that way.

Klaus makes a quick sign and Ben bobs his head in a nod. “I guess,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Fair enough.” Then, changing the topic, he says; “ought to think of what should go in the bonsai’s place.”

Klaus hums, glancing towards where it once was. His chin rested on his hand and he eyed it, trying to decide what best would sit there. Though really the bonsai tree had just pulled everything together, sat in a perfect space, being a perfect height and size to slot right in. Hopefully, he thinks, Grace will be able to nurse the plant back to life and he can bring it back up here and put it back. He doesn’t like the empty space, and so he rises to his feet and busies himself with rearranging everything just slightly so it isn’t as noticeable. Moving plants this way and that, lips pressed tightly together in concentration, and he goes back to gently mist water over a couple that he deems need it.

“Klaus?”

Luther’s voice breaks through his daze and he startles, clutching his mister in one hand and turning to look at his brother, who looks a little sheepish, lingering a few paces away. “Sorry,” he says, “I thought you heard me.”

Klaus waves him off. Luther looks around at the newly arranged plants. “It’s nice,” he offers. Klaus replies with a twitch of his lips. “The, uh, the others are here,” he tells him. “Everyone. Allison, Diego and Vanya.” As he speaks, he takes a step closer to him, watching him. “It would mean a lot to me if you were at the memorial.”

Klaus glances aside, then down at the plant mister in his grip. They were his family, and yet his heart picked up at the idea that they were all downstairs, having dinner or something. He hadn’t seen them in years. They had no idea what had happened. Would they judge him like they judged him for the drugs?

But he knows this is important to Luther, if nothing else. He sets aside the plant mister, looks at Ben, who gives him a reassuring nod and smile, and then he turns and nods at Luther. He smiles at that, genuinely lighting up, and Klaus follows him out of his garden, out of his safe space, and into the house. As they walk, he reaches out to tap Luther to grab his attention, and then he asks; _‘did you tell them?’_

“About you?” Luther clarifies, raising an eyebrow. Klaus nods. “No. I wasn’t sure you would have wanted me to say anything. I can tell them you’re sick if you want to leave.”

Klaus hums.

He thinks it’s somewhat ridiculous. He ought to be able to go downstairs and greet his family, make fun of them, laugh at their bickering, and go about his life, and he knows this. And yet he opens his mouth to tell Luther something (and Luther, who, years ago, would be the last sibling he’d want to talk to) and he simply can’t talk, and trying to only makes him panic. He doesn’t understand it and he doesn’t want to try.

They descend the stairs and he hears Allison talking in the living room. He pauses, simply listening to her voice. He’d heard her on the television before, but it had been ages since he had heard or seen her in person. Then he hears Diego snort, somewhat sarcastically. If Vanya is there, she’s as quiet as she’s always been.

Luther remains by his side, though, all Number One as he always has been, and he walks them both into the living room. Sure enough, Allison, Diego and Vanya are all there, and they look up when Luther and him enter.

“Klaus is here,” says Luther, “and I think we should all discuss the idea of a memorial first and foremost.”

He’s a little upset to see Diego sitting in the armchair by the fire, the armchair that he’s declared his own, but he bites it down and takes the remaining single armchair, sitting with his feet up on it, hand by his mouth and biting at his nails.

He looks around at his siblings, then. They all look extremely similar as to the last time he had seen them. They look well. Diego’s eying him with an intensity that he doesn’t like, and Vanya looks a little concerned.

“Are you staying here?” Diego asks Klaus, an eyebrow raised in surprise. Klaus nods his head, only furthering his surprise. “How long?” He asks. Klaus shrugs. He can’t remember when he came back, what year that bad winter was in, or how long it’s been since. How long had Luther been on the moon and how long had he been in that facility? He doesn’t know.

Diego’s brows furrow as he stares at Klaus, and Klaus turns his gaze to Luther instead. Luther clears his throat, shifting on the spot. “I was thinking we could have a memorial outside,” he says. “By the oak tree at sundown. It used to be his favourite spot.”

Allison quirks an eyebrow. “Dad had a favourite spot?” She echoes.

“Yeah,” says Luther, nodding and looking away. “He used to.” He doesn’t expand on it.

Klaus thinks that, if nothing else, at least the incident highlighted to Luther their father’s unsavoury nature. He doesn’t know exactly what happened because Klaus can’t talk about it, but he saw what happened afterwards, and he found him kicked out and sent to a facility as soon as he had been sent off, too. He still loved Reginald, but he had been making some progress against him between Klaus’ incident and his own, and had begun to distance himself, but not entirely.

“I also think that dad’s death was suspicious,” he states, and that’s news to Klaus. He glances up then, looking between Ben and Luther with a raised eyebrow. He hears Diego scoff and retort, hears other replies, but he focuses on Ben, who shrugs.

“He did seem a little odd about dad’s death,” he admits. “But I’m pretty sure he found him. There was no one in the house. I didn’t see anything odd, anyway.”

Klaus tips his head in a nod.

“Klaus could conjure him,” says someone, and that brings him right back to the conversation at hand. He lifts his head, blinking in shock and looking around. It was Allison. “Couldn’t you, Klaus? If you conjured him, you could just ask him how he died?”

Klaus shakes his head vehemently. He thinks of Reginald’s leering face, and he thinks of cold hands on him, cold, digging into his skin, pinning him to the floor, and more hands appearing from seemingly nowhere, on his legs and his knees and his arms and his shoulders and in his hair.

“Why not?” Allison asks, in _that_ tone of voice, words dripping with assumptions and judgement. He’s not high, but he should be, but Grace has hidden away all the medicine in the infirmary and it’s so hard to meet his dealers because whenever he feels like this, whenever he craves a high, everything just begins to _drift_.

“Are you high?”

“_I_…”

He had screamed his voice hoarse, worse than before. Had Reginald been outside? Had he been watching? Had he been listening? He would have done anything if Reginald had just got him out of there that day. Or, perhaps, had he just left him there, completely uninterested? Had he grimaced when he opened the doors and seen him on the floor, covered in his own blood?

“No, he’s not high. He doesn’t have to. Klaus?”

He can just shake his head and hope it conveys what he can’t say.

“Is he alright?”

He manages to find his feet, standing up. He waves his hand dismissively, throws a thumbs up over his shoulder, and hurries out of the living room and to his own bedroom. He falls onto his bed, loses his balance when the mattress dips, and leans against his wall, and then he blinks. He just blinks.

###

“Klaus?”

His eyes drift towards Luther, sat on the edge of his bed. He wonders how long he’s been there for. When Klaus’ eyes turn to him, though, his shoulders slump with a little relief.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t think about that. But what Allison said… you don’t have to.”

Klaus shakes his head. He knows Luther probably wants him to. But he doesn’t have to. He’s been lucky in not seeing Reginald as a ghost so far, and he wants to keep it that way.

“Grace is cooking if you’re hungry,” he tells him. Klaus shrugs. He’s never hungry. “Can I do anything?” Klaus shakes his head.

The bed groans. Luther stands up. “We’re having the memorial soon in the courtyard. If you want to come,” he tells him. Klaus nods his head in acknowledgement. Luther lingers for a moment before nodding, lifting a hand and then dropping it when Klaus flinches, and then he exits the room quietly.

Klaus sinks back against the wall, watching his hands curl into the duvet on his bed.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

He turns his gaze onto Ben, quirking an eyebrow slightly. Proud of what? Proud of him being too busy being comatose to go get drugs? Proud of his garden? He isn’t sure what he means. Nonetheless, he tips his head in his direction, a small bob of acknowledgement, and then he looks down at his short nails. He hasn’t painted them in a long time. He isn’t sure he can look at his hands for that long.

A knock at his door startles him. He looks up, watching the door inch open and watching Diego’s head poke into his bedroom and his eyes settle quickly onto him.

“Can I come in, bro?” Diego asks him. Klaus shrugs, then gestures for him to do so. He leaves the door slightly ajar behind him. He steps inside hesitantly, as if he’s not sure that he should be doing this, but he commits enough to sit on the edge of his bed where Luther had been.

“Are you alright?”

Klaus nods. He focuses on studying Diego. He’s picked apart just about everything else in his bedroom anyway; he knows the scars on his hands, knows the scratch marks by his window, the scuff marks on his floor and the cracks in the window-sill’s painting; knows the bong stains on the carpet and how many paces it is from corner to corner, and knows the starkness of his bare feet on the wooden floor, and the stain of black nail polish in the corner. He isn’t familiar with Diego.

“What even happened there? And since when did you live back in the Academy?” He asks curiously. “Did dad know you were here?”

Klaus huffs out a small breath. His fingers twitch and then he lifts his hands. _‘Nothing. Years ago. He knew.’_

Diego watched his hands with furrowed brows, lips parted slightly. “Can you not talk?” He asks, looking up at him with concern. Klaus shrugs. He wonders if this is how Diego felt with his stutter. Why can’t he speak?

Diego gives him a look, face contorted in concern and confusion. Klaus looks away. “You came back,” Diego states, almost accusatory. “Why?”

Klaus gives him a look, then. He hadn’t expected any of this when he had snuck in that night. He hadn’t anticipated that that would happen. But now he has nowhere else to go, unless he wants to go back to that facility and perhaps seek out that nice nurse Dave. He hadn’t come back because he missed the Academy or Reginald.

“What happened?” Diego insists, lowering his voice as if urging Klaus to whisper this secret with him. He doesn’t. Instead, he reluctantly shuffles off his bed, gesturing at the clock ticking on his wall. Diego follows behind him as he leaves his bedroom, blinking and trying to focus on finding some shoes to shove onto his feet. He can feel the frustration from Diego, fuelled by his concern, but he makes no attempts at relieving it or explaining the situation to him. They have a memorial to go to and he needs to find some shoes or a coat to put on before he goes outside, anyway.

He fumbles to pull one of his coats on, his movements heavy and sluggish as if he’s only just woken up, and Diego eyes him. He supposes he ought to find an umbrella, too, because all he can hear outside is heavy rain and thunder – there’s even a draft reaching him, which shouldn’t be the case and he hates the feeling and is quick to block it out by pulling the sleeves of his coat right down and bringing the collar close to his neck.

Diego’s eying the door windows with narrowed eyes. Enough so that Klaus raises an eyebrow at him, waving a hand in his line of sight to catch his attention.

“I think something’s happening outside,” he murmurs, still straining to listen to it. Klaus turns at the sound of more footsteps, watching as Allison and Vanya come down the stairs and Luther comes out of the living room, pausing at the sight of everyone else before all simultaneously deciding to check it out. Klaus lingers behind them all, watching them run off like the Academy kids they once were. Would Reginald be proud?

He trudges after them, feet hauling him outside almost on autopilot.

The wind is so violent he fears it might uproot some of the plants he and Grace had planted. But it’s the source of the problem that catches his attention.

It looks like a portal in the sky, rippling and glitching, reality breaking and stretching thin. And it’s blue. So blue. It illuminates the shadows in which things hide in, just like it had then, and his feet are rooted to the floor like a solid statue. And the blue, like it did then, brings ghosts with it, because little Number Five is spat right out of it and onto the floor at his feet, looking a little dazed and worn thin, but just as he had the day he had run away.

Klaus can’t move away from his ghost. The remnants of a blue light flash across the ivory skin of his hands and no matter what he had done then, he couldn’t shake the blue from his hands; it had clung like cobwebs to his skin, clung to him like the ghosts did. And now Five was going to join the rest of them.

Someone grabs Klaus’ shoulder and he can’t even make enough noise to scream. He’s hyperaware of his own heartbeat and how it seems to echo like a clap of thunder, and then he’s gone and he can’t be hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to let me know in the comments, I greatly appreciate it!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @veteranklaus


	3. do your weeping now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story and chapter titles are taken from the song Dirge by Perfume Genius, fun fact.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Five?”

Diego eyes his brother in utter shock. For a moment, he thinks he’s just seeing stuff, but evidently everyone else is seeing him too. And Five sits up on his elbows, looking around at them all, and all he says is _“shit.”_

He clambers to his feet, wiping dirt off of his hands. He looks around, and then he turns to the doors and starts heading towards them. Almost immediately everyone turns to follow him, calling his name. Everyone except for one person.

He pauses, watching as Luther hesitates too and turns to eye Klaus, standing in the exact same spot and staring, wide-eyed, at the floor where Five had been as if he doesn’t realise that Five’s moved. Luther watches him for a moment and then slides up to his side, calling his name gently. Klaus doesn’t respond. He rests a hand on his shoulder and Klaus doesn’t do anything. Luther’s face falls and he turns Klaus with a surprising gentleness, then guides him back to the house, past Diego.

Diego has no idea what to make of it. He hadn’t spoken to him earlier, and it had taken a moment for him to understand what he had signed. The only thing he can think of is that he’s ill. Evidently, Luther is familiar with this, however, despite how odd this is, there doesn’t seem to be much that he can actually do about it. Not with Five’s sudden appearance, anyway.

Nonetheless, he can’t help but watch as Luther guides Klaus into a seat. He can’t help but watch. He looks as if he’s tripping out or high, but simply without the energy he has when he’s high. He doesn’t move his gaze from the floor at all, doesn’t turn to look at Five as he moves around the kitchen, asking about the time and making small talk about the funeral.

Upon arrival, he had kind of assumed that Klaus would either be late or not come at all. He hadn’t expected Luther to turn around and say he’d go get him. Hadn’t expected Klaus to trudge in, looking as if he was fresh out of the hospital, all pale and silent and dazed, only to snap out and look like some cornered animal when Allison mentioned conjuring Reginald.

Luther stands by Klaus’ side, alternating between watching Five and asking a question of his own and looking at Klaus, occasionally squeezing his shoulder gently as if trying to get a reaction out of him. It doesn’t work.

“Where have you been, Five?” Luther asks him, inching a little closer. Five glances up from spreading peanut butter over a slice of bread.

“The future,” he states. “It’s pretty shit.” He eyes Luther for a moment and then he nods his head to Klaus. “What’s up with him?”

Eyes fall back onto Klaus. Luther takes a step closer to him protectively, lifting his head a little. “He’s ill,” Luther says, though it doesn’t sound entirely certain. Five’s eyes narrow slightly and then he appears in front of Klaus, ducking his head to try and catch his gaze. Luther places a hand slightly between the two of them, as if not letting Five get too close. Although Five must be right in his line of sight, taking up all of his vision, and Klaus just looks right through him. Five gives Luther a sceptical look, an eyebrow quirked.

He lifts a hand and Luther puts his in front of it, shaking his head minutely. Five stands up, eying Klaus one last time, and then he teleports to his sandwich, finishes making it, and heads towards the doors.

“Is that it?” Allison calls behind him. Five shrugs carelessly.

“What else is there to say? The circle of life, and all that.”

Diego watches him leave, disappearing around the corner and out of sight, leaving everyone recoiling slightly in shock. “Well,” Diego sighs, leaning back against the table. Allison only snorts, shaking her head slightly.

“At least he’s here for the funeral,” she mutters. She eyes the doorway as if expecting him to come back. He doesn’t, and so Allison spares everyone another glance before leaving the kitchen, and Vanya follows her, most likely looking for Five. She always was closes to him.

Diego lingers in the kitchen. He wants to go and follow Five and ask him what the hell just happened, demanding he explains what’s going on, but then he looks back to Luther, having moved to stand in front of Klaus with a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention by murmuring quiet words.

“Luther,” he says, a little sharply, and his brother picks his head up to eye him. Diego nods his head at Klaus. “What’s going on with him?” Luther swallows, shifting on the spot and looking at Klaus. Klaus, who’s yet to move, yet to talk, with a variety of milky scars scattered across his body. He had seen them on his hands, had seen a few on his face, along his jaw and his cheekbone, on his neck. He had somehow managed to be louder when he had broken his jaw.

“He’s ill,” Luther says unconvincingly. Diego snorts.

“Yeah, sure looks like he’s got a cough, huh?” He rolls his eyes. “What’s going on? He said he moved back here.” He knows Klaus would never move back to the Academy. He might break in for a night or so if he had nowhere else to go, but Klaus had always been vehemently against going near the Academy as soon as he had left, even if it meant sleeping in an alleyway, but he would never move back. Not for years.

Luther heaves a sigh. “He’s – he’s not always like this,” he says, and he sounds a little sad as he looks back at Klaus. “He’s fine some days. Normal.” He reaches out, gently tugging his forearms and Klaus rises to his feet obediently. Luther turns him, guiding him out of the kitchen and towards the stairs, Klaus shuffling along, leaving Diego in the kitchen and reeling from everything.

###

Klaus stands with Grace during the memorial. He doesn’t look any better; shoulders hunched, eyes on the ground, huddling close to Grace as she holds an umbrella above them both. She seems familiar with this too, and Diego would be lying if he says he isn’t frustrated. He thinks it’s fair enough, though, considering the situation of his presumed-dead brother returning and his other brother looks a step from a coma.

Nonetheless, he bites it down for the memorial at least. Until Pogo tries to build up Reginald’s reputation.

He can’t help but firing back. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to come to the funeral in the first place, had known it wouldn’t be a good idea, and it was right. He could’ve dealt with it if they had just dumped out the old man’s ashes and left it at that, but the lies, the blatant disregard to everything Reginald had put them all through – he can’t deal with that.

“Diego, you should stop talking,” Luther says, his voice low and strained. Diego quirks an eyebrow at him, bitterness rising up.

“You should understand where I’m coming from, Number One,” he hisses, lifting his head as Luther takes a couple of steps closer. “He was disgusted with you. He had to send you a million miles away because he couldn’t stand the sight of you,” he snaps. Luther’s jaw clenches and he steps closer, hands balling into fists by his side, and Diego itches for Luther to respond like he always does, itches for a fight and to be able to yell.

It had never ceased to infuriate him, the way Luther managed to overlook everything Reginald had ever done to the rest of them. How he hadn’t seen any of their faults as the consequences of Reginald’s abuse, all because he got special treatment for being Number One, and he’d never really gotten over the need to one-up Luther, either, whether or not Reginald was around to see it and praise him.

But now, much to his own surprise, Luther hesitates in his steps, swallows, sighs, and nods. “You shouldn’t say that, Diego,” he states. “You don’t understand what you’re talking about. I’m not going to fight you.” He hesitates, as if considering saying something else, his eyes flicking briefly to Pogo, but he just ends up repeating himself. “I’m not going to fight you.”

He turns, and he goes for Klaus and Grace, murmuring to them before leading them inside.

“Wow,” mutters Five, watching them go. “He grew some self control. Impressive.” And then he disappears in a flash, and Allison follows them inside, and Diego decides that this is even worse than the predictable fighting and arguing. He knew what he was getting into with all of that – but he doesn’t understand this.

He lingers in the courtyard, and his eyes flick to the bronze statue of Ben, and his heart feels heavy. “Bet you think we’re all fucked up now, huh?” He mutters.

(Although he can’t see it, Ben lingers outside with him, eying him with curiosity. “Oh, definitely,” he replies.)

###

He doesn’t necessarily want to stick around the Academy longer than he needs to, but he seeks him out one last time before he decides to leave.

Diego hauls himself up the stairs, down the corridor, and to Klaus’ bedroom. He knocks on the door before opening it, and his eyes instantly land on his brother, sitting in his bed with all the lights on, head tilted down and staring at the blankets on his lap. He doesn’t look up.

“Hey, bro,” he says, a bit awkwardly, and he comes up to the side of his bed when he doesn’t respond. The mattress dips beneath him and he reaches out to touch his wrist and Klaus’ breathing hitches in his throat. When he looks up, his eyes are on him with an unhinged intensity that startles Diego.

“Klaus?”

Klaus looks pointedly at his hand, still lingering on his wrist, and then looks back up at him. He can hear his breathing pick up alarmingly, and he all but snatches his hand off of him as if he fears he was burning Klaus. At least at that Klaus seems to relax a fraction, though he hurries to slide his arms beneath the blanket as best as he can. He looks away again, heat rising to his cheeks, and Diego ducks his head to try and catch his gaze.

“Tell me what’s going on, Klaus,” he all but pleads. He’s seen him when he’s been off his face and tripping on just about every kind of drug, seen him in both good and bad trips (and the bad ones were always _bad – _quite frankly, Diego had been scared during the bad trips, the things he had said, and he convinced himself it was simply because he was off his face and not to read too deeply into it) and half-delusional in withdrawals, seen him in hospital after an overdose before he started running out before they staff can keep him there long enough to call someone. He’s only seen him remotely like this once, and that was when they were thirteen.

(It had been weird. He had left one night – everyone had assumed he had snuck out, but Diego remembers hearing a car drive away and is willing to bet it had been with Reginald – and the next day he hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t done anything without prompting. The day after and he had been violent, yelling and acting out more than he had before. If Diego was to guess, he might say that whatever had happened that night kicked off Klaus into rebellion and drugs more so than anything else had.)

Klaus’ lips part, a huff of strained breath leaves them, and then he closes them once more, looking a little frustrated with himself. He shakes his head.

“Did something happen?” He asks. Had he been hurt? It wouldn’t be unlikely, and it’s not as if he hasn’t seen Klaus on the street in passing before and caught sight of a bruise or two on him, but he had never seen anything bad enough to land him back in the Academy and doing whatever it is he’s doing now. If it was that bad, he should have known. Then again, Reginald could make pissed off gangs disappear suspiciously if Klaus had gotten into trouble with them – Diego couldn’t.

Klaus eyes Diego. His eyes go a little distant for a moment before he blinks and looks away, and then he points a shaking finger at his door.

“Klaus – I’m trying to be here for you,” Diego grinds out, tense, and Klaus pointedly avoids looking at him. “Just talk to me.”

Klaus shakes his head resolutely. He jabs his finger at the door. He shakes harder. Diego bites back another response, swallowing. “Fine,” he mutters, and he goes to the door, lingering in the doorway. His hands are back beneath the blanket and he’s staring right down at his lap.

Diego leaves.

###

“You can talk to Diego. You know he’s just protective. He can help.”

Klaus shakes his head. He feels exhausted. He can’t really pinpoint what happened today, his timeline of events extremely hazy, and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and just sleep an entire day away.

“I know it’s hard,” Ben says, and he comes to sit on the edge of his bed. “But maybe talking might help.”

Klaus gives him a look.

“Just – Luther, or mom, or Diego. Or – or Dave, huh? He comes by sometimes to check on you, right?” Klaus nods. Perhaps Dave grew a soft spot for him and the way he can swing from utter silence for weeks to cracking a quiet, inappropriate joke during group therapy, but he had come to the Academy to check on him pretty ritualistically since Luther had signed him out. Klaus found it easier to talk to him than he did with his family.

He had almost told him. He had woken up screaming and he couldn’t stop. Dave had been the one to convince the others that holding him down to try and sedate him would be a terrible idea (and thank god for that) and he had spoken him down from it. It had been earlier in his stay, he thinks (he has no idea, truthfully, how long he was in there for, time seems to avoid him these days) and if Dave had been shocked at his sudden change from lifelessness to hysterics, he had taken it in his stride.

_“They wouldn’t stop,” _he had sobbed, pulling at his own hair. _“I couldn’t – I couldn’t stop them, they wouldn’t stop, they shouldn’t – they touched me, they can’t –“_

Whatever Dave had made of that, Klaus has no idea, but as soon as he had begun to calm down everything began to slow down and crumble apart as well as himself, and he couldn’t say much else. Dave never pressured him for more.

_‘I can’t,’ _signs Klaus with shaky hands. Ben slumps a little.

“I know,” he murmurs, gentle. He looks as if he wants to touch Klaus. He holds himself back.

Klaus has never let himself think of if he’s able to make Ben touch him. He doesn’t want to see his hands glow blue again, doesn’t want any single ghost to touch him ever again, and that has to include Ben.

There’s a knock at his door. Klaus almost throws something at it.

“Klaus, dear?” Calls Grace, quietly opening the door. “Oh, good, you’re awake. You missed dinner; are you hungry? I can make you something else.”

Klaus toys with his lower lip, feeling a little guilty as he shakes his head. Grace’s smile doesn’t waver.

“That’s alright, but you have to eat breakfast tomorrow, alright?” She comes in close and, when Klaus inclines his head a little, she bends down to press a gentle kiss to his head and squeezes his shoulder. “I hope you feel better soon, dear. You did good today. Sleep well.”

Klaus just nods. Had he been at the funeral? He can’t remember. Luther would have either taken him with him or let him sit in his bedroom or by the fire. There’s something important at the forefront of his mind, something he knows but resolutely decides he doesn’t want to deal with, not tonight, and he shoves it and everything else away and only thinks about the way his fairy lights send odd shadows around his room.

He doesn’t know why everyone insists he’s doing good. He hates the gentle approach they take to him, as if he’s some porcelain doll that will shatter when the wind changes direction. He hates the false smiles and encouragement, the kind he received in rehab and therapy, all artificial and childish.

But he tells himself that if he’s so sick of it, he ought to get up, get changed, and leave.

He can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed! Diego's trying his best, poor guy


	4. brought to the earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, an update, surprise

Diego is not at breakfast the next morning.

Allison and Luther are sitting by the table when Klaus wanders down, clad in the same clothes as yesterday because, truly, he can’t remember any fine details from yesterday least of all whether these clothes are new or not. It’s not important. (He finds that nothing truly matters much these days other than his garden.)

Luther looks pleased to see him coming down and seemingly of his own accord; he perks up slightly, sits a little straighter and offers a warm look to him. “Morning, Klaus,” he says, and Klaus nods his head at him and settles into his chair. Hardly a minute passes and Grace settles a plate of waffles in front of him.

Klaus goes to reach for his fork before looking back up between Allison and Luther, who have gone quiet since he entered the kitchen. Allison is watching him with a mix of concern and curiosity; Luther continues breakfast like usual.

_‘Am I interrupting something?’ _Klaus signs to Luther, raising an eyebrow. Luther shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No, we were just talking.”

Klaus hums his acknowledgement and turns his attention to his food again, taking it apart, cutting it into small pieces before beginning to eat.

“So, Klaus,” says Allison, clearing her throat and leaning on the table. “How have you been? Luther mentioned you moved back in.”

Klaus shrugs half-heartedly, not in the mood to have **t**his kind of conversation early in the morning. He nods, stabs a piece of waffle, lifts it to his mouth. It tastes like cardboard.

“Have you been around for a while?” She asks. Klaus shrugs. He can’t remember when it happened. “And you’ve been well?” She asks. Klaus sighs, appetite suddenly gone, energy draining away all of a sudden. He stares down at the waffle in front of him.

“It might be nice to speak to her,” Ben offers, leaning against a window over Allison’s shoulder. Klaus, once more, shrugs his shoulders, though in a smaller, less noticeable motion. He lifts his head, looking to Luther.

‘_Five_?’

Luther shakes his head. “I’ve not seen him this morning,” he says. Klaus slumps, pursing his lips. He feels bad that he hadn’t gotten to speak to him yesterday, though it wasn’t as if he could really help it. He wants to see his brother; his guts twist at the idea of Five truly being back after so long, and he can’t begin to imagine where he had been all this time. Ben had told him everything he had missed, but it didn’t seem that Five had truly said much about wherever – or, technically, whenever – he had been.

Klaus stands up, taking his plate and setting it aside. On his way to the door, Klaus turns to look at Luther to make sure that Luther is looking at him, and then he signs, simply; ‘_garden_.’

His brother looks a little sad that he is going so quickly, but he simply nods his head in acknowledgement and lets him go. Klaus wonders what Luther truly thinks about him; does he expect him one day to just jump out of bed, chipper and perfectly fine, all loud voiced and violent gestures. Does he sit and wonder whatever might have happened to him, and did he ever ask Reginald? What did Reginald ever say?

Probably nothing, he thinks. He would have dismissed Luther, ordered him not to ask anything about it or said that Klaus had gone and gotten himself into some stupid situation and not to indulge Klaus’ attention seeking behaviour.

He hauls himself through the Academy, up to his garden. A smile adorns his face as he approaches the little safe space, stepping amongst the plants and flowers. His eyes roam over all of the plants, lips pressed together in a tight line, studying them all and looking for any faults. With his constant checking on his garden, however, they’re as well kept as he can have them without over-watering them and ruining them.

His tongue dashes out along his lips and he swallows, turns to look at Ben who is looking away thoughtfully. His breath stutters in his throat before he speaks.

“T-think Five is around?” He asks. Ben jolts out of his thoughts at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows. His hands burrow in the pocket of his hoodie and he shrugs.

“He went out last night, I think. I don’t know if he came back or where he is now.”

Klaus hums, eyes narrowed in thought. Looking a little excited, Ben continues; “he might be around, though. I could go check around the house and we could find him? I’m sure he’d like to talk to you.”

Though the thought of leaving the Academy (new places bring new ghosts; if he stays within this place, then he can deal with familiar ghosts, but he doesn’t want to dare finding new ones and bringing them back to haunt him along with the others) strikes anxiety in him, makes his fingers twitch and heart beat a little faster, he truly does want to see Five.

So, with that, he nods to Ben, and the both of them leave his garden to itself, and wander back down the house. Ben offers to search out, most likely being quicker than Klaus himself, and Klaus lingers in his own bedroom; perched on the edge of his bed, his fingers search out an old pair of knitting needles still stuck in a half-made scarf, stuck between his bed and the wall, and he plucks it up and picks up where he left off however long ago.

He feels as though he ought to be more concerned with his perception of time. The incident in the mausoleum is as vivid in his mind as if it only happened yesterday, and it feels as if nothing else in his life has happened before that; as if he had been reborn in that crypt, torn apart and pieced back together all wrong. He blinks and hours have passed, and it seems as if minutes happen within a few seconds. He has little recollection of past events, and if he does the memories are disjointed as if he is viewing someone else’s memories rather than his own experiences. He cannot tell what happened last month. He can’t remember the last month. He doesn’t remember last week. It constantly feels as if he is being awoken each time he looks at the date and is forced to realise what day it is.

He feels as if it ought to be worrying. He really can’t bring himself to care. If he is aware of the moment passing, then he lives in the moment. If he isn’t, then it doesn’t matter.

He continues to fiddle with the knitting until Ben seems to materialise out of nowhere, looking enthusiastic. Klaus raises an eyebrow.

“He’s outside,” says Ben, jerking his head to Klaus’ window. “Fucking about with a van in the alley. No idea what he’s doing.”

Klaus gives him a questioning look, setting aside his knitting and rising to his feet. He crosses his bedroom to the window, pushes it up, and clambers out. His bare feet hit the fire escape, ignoring the light chill that seeps into his skin. Sure enough, when he peers over the railing he can see Five, pacing up and down the alleyway beside the van with a bag slung over his shoulders, deep in thought.

He makes a choked noise out of excitement, seeing Five for the first time since he arrived and only solidifying everything Ben had told him about Five actually being back. His brother must hear him because his head snaps up, eyes narrowing before landing on Klaus beginning to make his way down the fire escape.

“Klaus,” he says in greeting. He grimaces slightly when his bare feet hit the floor of the alleyway, stones digging into his soles, though Klaus hardly notices. His eyes look Five up and down, shoulders slumping in relief.

Five is actually there. Right there, in front of him, alive and looking exactly as he had the day he had left, if only a little more mature and tense. His lips part with a million words and questions on the tip of his tongue, but nothing comes out for a moment, sounds dying in his throat. Five quirks an eyebrow slightly at his hesitance so he pushes on, clears his throat.

“You’re – you’re back,” he comments lamely, and his restless his hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants. Five’s face twitches and he nods, a little tension seeming to melt out of his shoulder. He looks Klaus up and down, eyes cool and calculating in a way that makes Klaus feel as if he is being analysed.

“Yes,” he finally says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I made it back during the funeral.”

A little guiltily for not being able to remember it, Klaus’ glances aside and purses his lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice quiet. “What happened, Five? Where have you been?”

Five’s eyes bounce back to the van and then out of the alleyway before settling once more on Klaus. He lets out a small sigh. “I time travelled,” he states. “I went to the future; got stuck in there for a long time.” There is a glint in his eyes that Klaus can’t quite decipher. As soon as it is there, it is gone. Klaus quirks an eyebrow.

“The future, huh?” He echoes, and he shares a glance with Ben. “How was that?”

“Pretty shit, in all honesty.”

Klaus snorts lightly, lips twitching upwards. “I could have guessed that,” he utters. Five scoffs lightly; scuffs his foot over the floor as he toys with his words.

“What have you been up to, Klaus?” He asks, a million questions laced beneath his words. Klaus huffs, pursing his lips and looking around the alleyway. It feels odd to be out here; to be anywhere other than the Academy premises. He looks back to a waiting Five and shrugs.

“S-stuff,” he mutters, cheeks heating at the waver in his voice. “You should come inside, we could – could talk? It’s been a while.”

Five eyes him, looking between him and that van again with conflict. “I need to do something just now,” he finally says, then his expression lifts slightly. “I could use your help, actually.”

“Oh,” Klaus says, looking at Ben briefly. “I don’t know… what is it?”

“I need to get information,” he says. “About a prosthetic eye; but I look thirteen years old and no one will take me seriously. I could do with someone who looks older helping me get in so I can talk to someone.”

Klaus toys with his lower lip between his teeth. “F-Five, I don’t – I don’t think I can,” he mumbles apologetically, cheeks warm. Five’s eyes narrow slightly, more so in curiosity than anything else.

“You know,” he says, “in the future, I found Vanya’s book. She didn’t mention anything happening to you.”

Aside from the drugs, Klaus thinks. He looks down at his pale feet, only then realising they are bare, and he digs his toes into the ground; feels a faint sting from little stones digging into his skin. He shrugs half-heartedly, offering no explanation.

“I think I’m more surprised about Luther knowing while no one else does,” he states, and Klaus presses his lips together. Ben knows, too, he thinks, but he won’t tell anyone about Ben in fear of being called a liar, even if he also thinks that Five might believe him about it.

“He tries,” Klaus mumbles, and his voice is quiet again; words struggling in his mouth, and he hates it. He wants to talk to Five, wants to speak to him, but already panic is rising in his chest and he’s outside where any new ghost might wander upon him and find him. “But he – he doesn’t know.”

Five hums thoughtfully. Klaus shuffles, taking a staggering step backwards, lips moving silently for a moment.

“I – I shouldn’t be out here,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else, and he seeks out the fire escape with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing back to Five. “I don’t – I can’t help you, I’m sorry. Diego – Diego could, but – sorry.”

He turns rather abruptly, pulling himself up the fire escape and letting the sharp edges of the metal dig into his skin in some attempt to ground himself with the slight pain it brings.

“Klaus,” calls Five, and he dares to turn his head to peer at him over his shoulder. Five lingers, expression unreadable, quiet for several moments before adding; “stay safe, Klaus.”

He swallows, unsure of what to make of that, and so he simply nods hastily and continues clambering back up the fire escape and through his window into his bedroom.

He drops down onto his bed, body trembling with a mix of adrenaline and anxiety. That is probably the most he has done for – years, probably. He exhales shakily, scrubbing his shaky hands down his face and burning a hole into the wall opposite him. He is aware of Ben trying to talk to him but his voice sounds exactly like high-pitched ringing, like the whistles of bombs, and his hands feel static until they feel like nothing at all.

###

He smells something.

It is the first thing he notices. A strong smell of lavender intermingling with a muted smell of smoke. It is a gentle smell, soothing and pleasant, and he inhales deeply. Flowers? Is he in his garden?

He blinks his eyes rapidly, forcing his vision to piece itself back together and display not flowers like he expected, but his own bedroom still.

He hears voices. Two of them; Luther being one of them, humming acknowledgements and agreements. The second one; familiar, calm and steady, a voice that makes him want to just close his eyes and curl up and listen to it forever.

His eyes drag away from the spot he has been staring at. He blinks again, looks aside, and his eyes settle on Luther and Dave in his room, hovering nearby at his dresser, watching a stick of incense burn slowly. That must be the smell, Klaus thinks.

“It should help ground him more,” Dave is saying. “Strong smells, but pleasant ones, and sounds, too. He has that record player there; sticking an album in it and letting it play could help. It’s not a miracle cure, don’t get me wrong; it might not even work, but it still has a chance of just letting his sense latch onto something present and he can focus on that. Visual aids might also help – like a television, or changing lights, or whatever, but I don’t think Klaus would respond well to anything visually; it might just make him panic even more.”

“Right,” says Luther, nodding his head and staring at the incense. “Where can I get this from?”

“There’s a little shop on the high street that sells it and other scents fairly cheap – The Dragon, it’s called. I brought a whole pack of them, though, so you ought to be fine for a while. If he’s completely out like he is now, then you can light one up and stick the music on at a quiet volume, and it might help bring him back a little. He can do it himself as well if he’s not feeling great that day, or if he’s panicking.”

Dave sets a packet of other incense sticks beside the burning one, then sets a box of matches next to it and continues to talk. “Like I’ve said, sometimes there’s really nothing you can do to prevent it or make him come back, in a sense, quicker than usual, but you can try and give him a safe space that he can go to when everything feels too much. Honestly, putting this and a radio and a chair or some cushions up in his private garden seems like the best idea, since it is his little safe space so far. I just did this here for now since he was already like that. How’s he been lately?”

He hears Luther sigh. “Our… uh, what with the funeral and one of our siblings coming back after being gone so long, I think he’s been overwhelmed. He seemed better at breakfast this morning; I just don’t know what set him off,” he says, frustration bleeding into his tone.

Dave offers a gentle smile to Luther. “I know,” he offers. “But he’ll talk to you about it when he is ready to.”

“It’s been years, Dave-“

“And he needs time,” Dave insists. “He obviously trusts you, but he might not have even processed it himself yet either. He’ll talk when he’s ready, but right now you’re doing the best you can and he appreciates that.”

Luther doesn’t look convinced but he allows himself to nod with a sigh, watching smoke curl off the incense.

Klaus realises there is a blanket draped over his shoulders. It is fluffy and heavy, soft, and his fingers curl tighter into it. His eyes slip shut, listening to the incoherent drone of Dave and Luther talking, finding motivation to announce his presence. He likes the feel of the blanket brushing his jaw and he keeps his grip on it tight.

Time passes. Maybe a lot, maybe not; Dave is in his room, Luther is not. The door is ajar; incense smoking, music playing. Maybe he fell asleep. He doubts it; he would be shaking with a nightmare if he fell asleep.

He struggles to find the energy to open his eyes, but he does.

Dave is standing by the window, fiddling with something in his hands. Klaus’ watches his fingers move, listens to him humming along with the music.

Klaus makes no noise, simply watching him. He can’t find it in himself to do anything else.

Dave turns around, eyes bouncing briefly to Klaus, a swift check on him, and then they flick away again. Then, doing a double-take, he turns back to him, eyebrows raising. He offers a smile, watching carefully to determine how he thinks Klaus is doing.

“Hey,” he says. “I’ve not been here too long; little less than an hour,” he informs him. Klaus blinks. Dave comes closer to him, fingers spread to show his empty hands as if trying to convey he isn’t a threat. Klaus knows that. Dave would never hurt him. Dave is nice.

“Can I sit down?” He asks. Klaus isn’t sure how to respond; can’t make his body move or his mouth make words. Instead, his lips twitch into a small smile reserved for Dave. Dave must understand it, though, because he comes close. The bed dips with his weight; his thigh presses against Klaus’. He is warm, and alive, and it is nice.

Klaus closes his eyes and leans against him ever so slightly, trusts him to keep his body here when his mind begins to drift again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear any thoughts on this! <3


	5. the arrogant brow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

He recognises the song. 

It takes him a moment to place it. Lady Gaga, he realises, playing quietly around him. One of her slightly slower songs. 

He blinks his eyes open with the familiar feeling of recognising his own state of awareness, acknowledging that he had just lost time. Something warm is holding his slumped body up, something pressed to his back and something winding around his torso to come rest on his upper arm; a body, an arm, a hand, he realises. 

He eyes the arm around him, the hand cupping his own blanket-covered arm. His room is dim; curtains by the window open but the outside world dark. His bedside lamp and nearby fairy lights are on, and a candle is burning beside incense on his dresser. 

Dave is with him. It is his arm and his body keeping him upright. When Klaus strains his ears, he can hear Dave murmuring beneath the music; talking about random little things, like what he had for breakfast, and how he will have to go shopping on the way back home to get the ingredients for what he wants to cook for his dinner, and how it looks like a calm night outside so the walk to the grocery store will be nice. 

Klaus is tempted to just close his eyes and listen to him speak forever. Instead, he shifts slightly, holding more of his own weight. Dave’s grip loosens enough to let him move; he stops talking. 

“Hey,” he says, greeting him as if this is the first time they have seen one another rather than spending the past however-long together. He supposes that is true for himself. 

Klaus looks around the place, one hand on the mattress below him to push himself up, and then he turns to look at Dave. He sticks one hand out of the blanket draped over himself to wiggle his fingers in a vague wave at him. 

“How’re you feeling?” Dave asks, squeezing his shoulder. Klaus pauses, tests his tongue in his mouth as if to see if it is up to the task of speaking aloud or not. But this is Dave, and he likes speaking to Dave, and Dave encourages him when he speaks, and Dave knows little sign language; Klaus had to teach him what he knows and Dave took it upon himself to learn some more, but he is still rusty. 

“F-fine,” Klaus murmurs. “Tired,” he adds. Dave hums his acknowledgement. 

“You’ve had a busy couple days,” he says. Klaus snorts. 

“I’ve done nothing,” he utters. He lets his head droop slightly, eyes slipping closed. 

“Was one of the few things you did then sleeping?” Dave asks. Klaus huffs, cheeks heating up. Dave nudges him slightly. “Exactly. You’re allowed to be tired, Klaus.” 

“How long have you been here for?” He asks. Dave shrugs. 

“A while. Grace said that dinner was a while ago. I told her I’d bring you down if you felt like it later; you look like you haven’t been eating again. You need to keep your weight up.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Klaus dismisses, looking down at his hands, watches his skin ripple over his bones when his fingers move. “Everything tastes bad.” 

“Maybe we can try something new, then?” Dave suggests. Klaus sighs, nodding. 

“Alright,” he mumbles, shifting. “Now?” 

“Whenever you want.” 

Klaus stares at his feet on the floor. Them, along with the palms of his hands, are dirty from going outside and clambering around the fire escape. “Alright,” he mumbles. “I need – need to wash my hands.” 

“We can go do that,” Dave hums pleasantly, and they both stand. Klaus keeps the blanket around his shoulders and turns to look at the door, lips expelling a heavy sigh. On his feet, he feels exhausted. He considers just sitting back down and curling up on his bed, burying himself beneath the blanket and falling asleep forever. 

“Come on,” Dave urges, and coaxes him to step forwards. They trudge through the hallway and into the nearest bathroom. Klaus stares at the sink as if waiting for it to turn itself on for long enough that Dave reaches forwards, turns the tap on, and holds his hands out expectantly. Klaus places his hands in Dave’s, notes the difference in their skin tone; Klaus is pale, as white as snow, and Dave’s skin is sun-kissed as if he has recently been on holiday and in the sun, with a few freckles dotted around. 

He brings Klaus’ hands under the water and he can’t help but jump slightly at the sudden heat. He hadn’t realised he was so cold. Dave brings the soap over, squirting it onto his hands, and the soap that drips off his hands is cloudy and full of bubbles now. 

He scrubs away at the residue dirt in the grooves of his skin, and then turns off the sink, lifting one of the towels hanging nearby, and gently dries his hands. 

Klaus blinks. “’m sorry,” he mumbles, blinking again in an attempt to ground himself. Dave smiles at him. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Do you want to go down now or go back to your bedroom?” 

Klaus purses his lips, and then he forces his hand to find the cloth on the sink, shakily turning the tap on and running it under the water. 

“I just cleaned your hands, Klaus,” says Dave in a gentle tone. 

“I know,” Klaus says. “It’s - my feet. I went outside; I forgot shoes.” 

Dave lets out a little sound of realisation. Klaus lowers himself down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, lifting one leg up so that he can see the sole of his foot, and he roughly scrubs the dirt away before doing the same to the other. He runs the flannel beneath the water to clean it, then drops it beside the sink, dries his hands and his feet again. 

“We can go down,” he murmurs. Dave smiles at him, all bright and warm and encouraging, and then he guides him down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Grace is there, but no one else is. 

“Oh, hello dear,” Grace greets with a smile. “Sit down, I’ll make you both something to eat.” 

“Oh, that’s fine ma’am, I’ll get food when I go home-” 

“Nonsense, I’ll make something now for you both. Any suggestions?” 

Dave smiles slightly. “Uh, thank you. There was this nice Vietnamese restaurant I saw-” 

“I know a recipe,” Grace says with a grin. Klaus might almost say she looks excited. She gestures to the table for them to sit down before turning to the kitchen. Klaus smiles slightly, and he turns to the table. He pulls out Ben’s seat as is habit, and then he stares at his seat. Then he sits up on the table instead, crossing his legs and pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Dave settles into a seat nearby, quirking an eyebrow at him.

The odd seating arrangement does a little to help ground him a little, and Dave does't comment on it. 

"So, you went outside?"

Klaus hums, looking at his nails. "Yeah. Wanted to see Five; he was outside."

Dave hums. "How is he?"

Klaus purses his lips in thought, eyes bouncing back up. "He's nice. Different. He said, uh, he was in the future for a long time and Ben said that he said four decades. So, I guess he's old now." He shrugs his shoulders. "I just wanted to talk to him."

"I'm sure he'll be back again soon," Dave comments, glancing over to the kitchen. Klaus nods. 

Grace returns to their side, carrying two steaming bowls of food. She sets one in front of Dave; one in front of Klaus, and she doesn't comment on how he is sitting. Klaus stares down at the bowl, lifting it up and cradling it in his hands. "What is it?" He asks, looking at Grace.

"Pho," she says. "A popular Vietnamese dish of broth, noodles and chicken."

Klaus hums his acknowledgement. He picks up his cutlery, stirring the contents of his bowl. Admittedly, it looks a little more appetizing than what he's been eating recently, but his stomach shows no interest in it. He sighs, continues to stir it absently until Dave speaks up.

"It's good," he says, nodding his head to Klaus. "Give it a try."

Klaus loos guiltily down at it, still untouched, and finds it hard to make his hand move to his mouth, to break the rhythmic stirring. Eventually, though, he forces himself to do it; scooping up a few noodles and spearing a small piece of chicken. He brings it to his mouth, blowing gently over it, before depositing it in his mouth. It is hot, and faintly spicing. He finds little taste in the noodles themselves, preferring the chicken soaked in the broth. 

Dave quirks an eyebrow at him, watching his reaction. 

"It's alright," he states. "A bit better than what I've had," he admits in a murmur, and he tries to aim for getting more pieces of chicken. It sits heavy in his stomach but he likes the way the broth seems to warm him from the inside out.

He hears footsteps outside of the kitchen. His eyes bounce up, curious and hesitant, though he eventually recognises the footsteps as Allison's. She walks fast, and she comes to the kitchen, eyes a little wide, and her eyes fall onto Klaus sitting on the table, half-way through biting a piece of chicken. 

"Have - have you seen Luther?" She asks, a little breathless. His eyebrows furrow and he shrugs, but sets aside his food to free his hands. _'Gym? Bedroom?'_

She eyes his hands with curiosity, taking a moment to translate it before she nods. She lingers, eying Klaus, but whatever she needs to say to Luther takes priority over her conflict with Klaus, so she turns disappearing down the corridor in the direction of the gym first. Klaus shares a curious look with Ben, then shrugs. He stretches his legs out over the edge of the table.

"Are you going to eat more?" Dave asks, looking at the hardly-touched bowl of food, and Klaus can't help but sigh at being caught in his attempt to casually dismiss the food. He gives Dave a vaguely desperate look, but Dave doesn't back down. "A little more, Klaus. You might not feel hungry, but I'm willing to bet you haven't had a full meal in a _while_, and your body needs it."

"I know," Klaus grumbles. He stares at the offending bowl, eyes slightly narrowed, but he picks it up, stirs it, and begins to eat again. He manages to get through half of it before he makes a noise, setting it aside. "I can't," he says. Dave eyes the bowl, deflating a little, but he still smiles at Klaus.

"Thank you," he says. He takes both bowls aside, setting them by the sink for Grace to get, and then he returns to Klaus' side. "Do you want to do anything? How's your garden coming along?"

Klaus perks up. He slides off the table, reaches for Dave's wrist to guide him up all the way to his garden. He gestures to it with a prideful smile on his face. 

"I-I had to get rid of one plant, but Mom is going to try and fix it up," he says. Dave wanders amongst the plants with a small smile on his face, nodding his head.

"You've almost got a jungle here," he comments. "It's great, Klaus. And you did this."

Klaus blushes slightly, looking around at it, and then he shrugs. Subconsciously, he shuffles a little closer to Dave, as if trying to feel some of the warmth radiating off of him or trying to touch him without reaching out. If he notices it, Dave doesn't comment on it.

"You'll have to give me some tips; I'm trying to grow some flowers in my apartment; you know, add some more colour to the place. I'm no good at it, though," he muses. Klaus hums, shifts, then reaches out and hesitantly places his fingers on Dave's wrist. Dave doesn't move it; he offers a small smile, nudging his hand back into his touch to show he is okay with it. Spurred on, Klaus curls his fingers around his wrist. He is warm, and solid, and alive beneath his touch, and it is reassuring. 

He murmurs, "Dave."

Looking a little concerned, Dave raises his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Klaus pauses, lips parted and brows furrowed. "How... how long? How long's it been, Dave?"

Dave frowns, turning to look at him face-on. "Since what?"

Klaus shrugs one shoulder. "Since I came to your facility? Since I've been like - like this?"

Dave looks down, placing one of his hands over Klaus'. "You went there four years ago, Klaus."

Klaus sucks in a breath. "Four years," he echoes, and he looks away. His lips curl into a bitter smile and he tilts his head back, looking at Dave from the corner of his eyes. "You know, I would have said last year. I only have a years worth of memories out of four years, Dave." He sighs heavily, looking up at the dark sky above him. 

Dave squeezes his wrist gently. "And you've been doing great lately, Klaus," he states. Klaus shakes his head.

"I'm _tired_, Dave. I'm never _not_ tired. And scared. And in an hour, I won't remember this, and I won't feel alive again." He blinks furiously, tightens his grip on Dave's wrist and focuses on the sensation. It is odd, this sudden hit of reality. All of a sudden he feels nearly like his normal self; or, at the very least, he is aware of what has been happening; of his uncontrollable dissociation, his constant loose grip on both reality and himself. He feels as if he has been split into two people and the old him is buried deep, deep down, with all of the ghosts. He feels as if part of him is dead. 

In this moment, he has come back to life, only to stare at his own corpse. And in an hour he will be a ghost again; unreal, floating between reality.

Dave stares at him, slightly taken aback by the sudden intensity to him, one that hasn't been there for a long time (apparently, Klaus wouldn't know) and then he blinks, shifts on the spot. He takes Klaus by the shoulders, urging him to look him in the eye.

"Something traumatic happened to you, Klaus," he says, voice serious but soft, and he flinches. "And you're recovering. It would be unfair to expect you to feel perfectly normal. You can take all the time in the world that you need to be able to build yourself back up; and that's what you've been doing. You'll get there in the end, Klaus, but I can't tell you if that will be in a month or another four years. What you're doing now? It's great. Look at the progress that you've made in this garden, and outside. Look at the art you've created. You've made a relationship with your brother that you said you never got on with. You're doing great, and you ought to be proud of how far you've come, Klaus."

Klaus stares at him with wide eyes, biting his lower lip. He feels like he's teetering on the edge of a cliff high over an ocean, waves crashing at the bottom and calling his name, and the wind urges him to fall. He has no idea if it would be better or worse to fall or to remain at the top. 

He glances away from Dave, forces the words to settle in his skull. 

He wants, desperately, to be alive again. 

Dave's hands are heavy on Klaus' bony shoulders; warm. Klaus turns back to look at him; Dave, who just radiates life, as if he is standing on one side of a line and Klaus is on the other side; one of them alive, one of them dead and cold; so cold.

He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. He leans forwards, wraps his arms around Dave's torso and fists the back of his shirt. Dave returns the embrace without hesitation, tight and grounding. Klaus allows it to linger for a moment before he lifts his head and moves his hands; they go instead to cup Dave's jaw, holding him in place, and then he smashes his lips onto his; rushed and desperate.

He feels Dave startle, hesitate, before reciprocating it gently despite Klaus' more rushed approach, as if trying to soothe and calm him.

Klaus pulls back, breathless, feeling like he's been set on fire. Dave is out of breath too, taking a moment to open his eyes and staring at Klaus, and then Dave falters. With a sad expression, he murmurs a gentle; "Klaus." He sighs, looks away with pink cheeks. "I - Klaus, I don't want to take advantage of you," he says.

Klaus grits his teeth together. "I don't care," he spits, and his eyes burn with tears. "I want this, Dave, I want this!” He cries out, louder than he thinks he has been in a long time - other than _then_. He had screamed then. His fingers curl into Dave’s shirt and he doesn’t quite see his (and Ben’s) somewhat startled expression.

”I’m not your _fucking_ _patient_! I’m alive! I’m alive, Dave, and I want this, _please_.”

His voice wavers, goes from angry to broken, almost scared again, and he falters. Dave gives him a gentle smile, sad, and his hands press down on his back to coax him into a hug. Klaus collapses against him with a sob, burying his face in his shoulder. He can’t handle these emotions; they’re all to violent, too intense after feeling nothing for so long. He feels as if he is falling apart, shattered and being scattered around. 

But he feels this, and he wants to keep feeling it. 

Dave runs his hand down his back, following the curve of his spine, and murmurs soft words to him as he babbles an endless stream of: “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to die, I’m alive.”

His knees sag and Dave tightens his grip on him while carefully lowering them to the ground to sit amongst the plants. 

Klaus keeps his face hidden in Dave’s shoulder, refusing to loosen his grip on him either, and grasps desperately for the loose corners of his mind with little success. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I’d love to hear your thoughts! <3


	6. and the withering tongue

“Do you want to go to your bedroom?”

Klaus looks up at Dave with heavy eyelids. They are still on the garden floor, though Klaus has since stopped crying and just braced himself against Dave, nauseas with the anxiety of waiting to wake up and be somewhere else all of a sudden.

He is exhausted. Reluctantly, he nods, and with Dave’s help he rises to his feet. “How are you feeling?” Asks Dave as they trudge out of the garden, heading back inside.

“Tired,” Klaus admits in a murmur, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“It’s getting late,” Dave says. “It’s probably best to just try and head to sleep now.”

Klaus grunts his acknowledgement. He feels drained now after that breakdown, exhausted and sluggish, drained dry of his rare emotions. He wouldn’t object to sleep at this moment in time, so he doesn’t complain when they arrive in his bed and Dave pulls back his bed covers and lowers him onto his mattress.

“Do you want to change?” He asks. Klaus stares at his hands. He is so _tired_. He’s been wearing these clothes for a couple of days now, he thinks. He would be more comfortable in something else. His eyes drift to the dresser and the clothes hidden inside. He stares at it. He is suddenly all too aware of the clothes on him; he wants them off, wants to just bury himself beneath his blankets and be unrestricted by his suddenly claustrophobic clothing.

With robotic movements, he tugs his jumper off and discards it on the floor. His hands go to his pants, tight around his legs, and he struggles to tug them off and let it drop to the floor beside his shirt, and then he sticks his legs beneath the duvet, sliding down the bed.

“Do you want a shirt, or pyjamas?” Dave asks, perched on the edge of his bed. Klaus closes his eyes, focusing briefly on the feeling of the duvet on his bare skin. He feels that anything tight around his body would feel uncomfortably and clingy, all claustrophobic. He shakes his head slightly, balling his hands into the duvet and keeping it up to his chin.

“Alright,” Dave murmurs, and his hand settles gently on his shoulder. “Get some sleep, Klaus. I can come back tomorrow.”

He feels the bed lift as Dave stands up. His eyes snap open and one of his hands rush out of the blanket to ensnare his wrist. “S-stay? Please? I don’t – I don’t want to be alone.”

Dave stares at him in thought for a moment, and then he offers a soft smile, nodding. “Of course,” he says, and he perches himself on the edge of his bed again. Klaus fumbles to lift his duvet up, trying to coax Dave closer. He wants to just cling onto him and drag the moment out forever; feel Dave’s skin beneath his touch, hear his breathing, in this sudden clarity he has now. He doesn’t want to fall asleep lest his grip on life loosen once more and slip away from him and when he wakes up in the morning he will be a husk of himself again.

But he is so tired, so unbelievably tired, as if the ghosts have thrust their hands out of their graves to dig their claws into his flesh and drag him backwards into the dirt.

“Klaus,” Dave sighs, face conflicted. Klaus interrupts him before he can continue.

“Please,” he says. “I know what I want, Dave. Just for – just this moment.”

Dave hesitates for a moment longer before taking off his shoes, setting them aside, and shuffling into the bed. Klaus drops the duvet over the both of them and he lifts himself up enough for Dave to slide an arm around his back. His hand comes to settle on his side and Klaus sinks into him, head falling onto his shoulder. He watches his own hand settle in front of his face on Dave’s chest, rising and falling steadily.

He closes his eyes.

“Goodbye, Dave,” he murmurs, voice sad. He curls his hand into Dave’s shirt as if the grip might anchor him here and prevent him from slipping away while he slept.

“I think you mean goodnight,” says the brunette.

Klaus doesn’t reply.

He goes to sleep.

###

His eyes feel heavy. He knows he is awake and he can’t quite bring himself to face it, as if he knows that beyond his closed eyes lay some world he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Or maybe he simply can’t find the motivation to open his eyes.

His hair moves. Fingers run through his hair continuously, soothingly, nails tickling his scalp.

He ought to startle at the touch; react to it anyway; but he remains still. The fingers continue. Time passes. He opens his eyes.

“Good morning,” Dave hums. “How are you feeling?”

Klaus blinks. He wonders if he dreamt at all last night. “Tired,” he mumbles, voice quiet. He sees Dave’s expression falters, deflating slightly, but he quickly puts back on a gentle smile.

“I know,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

Klaus sighs. Now his eyes are open and he can hardly make himself close them again. Dave continues.

“Or, if you want, we could go get some breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

“I know,” Dave repeats. “But you have to eat.”

He sighs once more. He knows he should. “Alright,” he mumbles, but makes no move to get up.

“Do you want to stay here for longer?” Dave offers. Klaus shrugs, but he forces himself to find his hands and then push himself upright. Dave sits up, too, and shimmies out of bed. Klaus follows him, kicking his legs out of the duvet and standing up heavily. He forces his legs to move, even if they feel as if they aren’t there, and heads to the door, reaching for the handle.

Dave sets a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to get changed?”

Klaus blinks at him, then looks down. “Oh,” he breathes, staring at his body clad in only underwear. There is a scar on his hip. He turns to look at his dresser. Dave squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, slipping over to it and rummaging around to pull out a shirt and a loose pair of pants. He offers them to Klaus, who takes a while to pull them on, moving as if his limbs are heavy and full of water.

Finally changed, though, he wraps his arms around himself and they both head out of his bedroom and downstairs.

The kitchen is empty. Klaus doesn’t wonder what time it is. He slumps into his chair, forgetting to pull Ben’s out for his brother, and Dave, with no sight of Grace, heads to the cupboards opposite the table.

Klaus blinks. A plate of toast, covered in a layer of strawberry jam, appears in front of him. Dave is leaning against the table beside him, leaning forwards to gently pinch Klaus’ wrist and urge his hand towards the toast. He picks it up, brings it to his mouth, and bites. The jam is sweet but muted to his taste, but Dave’s hand remains on his arm, a ghost-light touch, and so Klaus keeps eating. He blinks. It is gone; his plate is empty. He searches Dave out.

“That was great,” Dave says, squeezing his shoulder. “You did great, Klaus.”

Klaus’ lips curl up into a small, tired smile. His eyes flutter closed and he reaches one hand up to rest over Dave’s, curling his fingers around his hand. He swallows, mouth dry.

“Yesterday was nice,” he murmurs. Dave turns his hand around so that he can squeeze Klaus’.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it was.”

Klaus sighs, tipping his head back; Dave lifts his other hand up to catch the back of his head and his fingers scratch his scalp gently. “I’m sorry,” Klaus murmurs. Dave raises an eyebrow at him and Klaus takes a moment to continue. “I don’t feel good today.”

“That’s alright, Klaus. Don’t be sorry,” Dave hums softly. “You will again.”

Klaus huffs slightly, turning his head to look at Dave. The idea that he had even felt such intense emotions, felt so alive, is almost incomprehensible compared to how he feels now. He can’t imagine ever feeling anything but tired and anxious.

His eyes bounce over Dave’s shoulders as he hears footsteps. Heavy, thudding; Luther.

His brother pokes his head around the corner, looking relieved to see Klaus. He nods to Dave, opens his mouth, then pauses. He comes over, studying Klaus before speaking. “We’re having a family meeting shortly,” he says. “Do you feel up to coming?”

Klaus blinks; forces his sluggish mind to hear the words and consider them. He wants to go back to sleep. Or maybe take a scalding hot bath. Maybe both.

He nods. “Sure,” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. Luther twitches at the sound of his voice but smiles gently, nodding, then to Dave he says; “you can come if he wants you to.” He hesitates a little awkwardly but then Klaus catches sight of Allison in the living room doorway; she clears her throat and Luther turns with one last nod to the two of them.

“Wonder what it’s about,” Ben muses, sliding up to his side to watch Klaus heave himself to his feet. He shrugs half-heartedly.

Dave stands up a little, looking to Luther before he can go to Allison. His eyes glanced to the door and back. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” He asks. Luther hesitates for a moment before nodding and, turning to Klaus with a smile. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Klaus watches them both step outside, lingering just by the door; close enough that Klaus can see Luther’s shoulders and, if he strains his ears, he can listen to them.

“Is he okay?” Asks Luther.

“He’s doing fine,” replies Dave, voice quieter. “But I can tell he’s lost weight since I last saw him. I know it’s hard to get him to eat, but you really need to make sure he is. Breakfast, lunch, dinner; he ought to be eating at least half of his meal. His metabolism is fast as it is and it took us a while to get his weight back up at Gray’s. Try out new recipes with him; spicy foods ought to help, too. I don’t think you’ll get him to eat a full meal, but you can work it up. And little stuff like brushing his teeth, bathing, washing his clothes; he just needs to keep up with all of this kind of stuff, but he won’t remember it all himself and I won’t be here all the time to help him.”

Luther shifts, sighing. “I know,” he utters. “I just still don’t know how to really help him.”

He can tell from Dave’s voice that he is wearing that same soft, understanding smile. “I know,” he says. “But you’re doing well; it’s just little things that you can just change your routine to fit in with Klaus; when you wake up, go get him. When you brush your teeth, get him to do it at the same time. Have meals together; turn on the shower and leave some new clothes for him and he’ll see it and do it by himself.”

“I will,” Luther says after a moment’s pause. “Thanks – I really do appreciate your help. I’ll keep a closer eye on him.”

He hears Dave pat him on the shoulder. “That’s all you can do sometimes.”

Footsteps shuffle and then Dave comes back in, gravitating to his side. “Do you want to go sit in the living room – I think Luther is just waiting for everyone to come for the family meeting.”

Klaus nods his head, pushing himself to his feet, chair scraping the floor. Then he lifts his head up to stare at the fireplace in the living room, couch dipping as Dave sits down next to him.

Allison is in the living room; standing nearby the bar where a small television has been set up. Luther is by her side. Vanya comes in at some point, and Diego is last to arrive.

“What’s going on, Luther?” Diego asks, and then his eyes narrow. “Who’s that?” He gestures vaguely to Dave, jaw twitching.

“Dave Katz,” he says, offering his brother a polite smile. “A… friend of Klaus’.”

Diego stares incredulously at him, then looks to Luther. “And he’s just in our family meeting, huh?” He retorts. Luther sighs, pressing his lips together.

“He can stay,” he says, voice firm. “I have something important to say.”

Diego opens his mouth to speak again, but Luther points to the television and cuts him off. “Allison found a tape from the night Dad died-“

Klaus blinks.

“She feels things, I’ve seen it!” Diego snaps, glaring at Luther, who looks conflicted.

“If her software is degrading, then she isn’t safe,” Luther says, eyes flicking to Klaus. He opens his mouth-

Klaus blinks.

Diego is staring at him, suddenly much closer. Dave is sitting up a little more, almost protectively.

“Actually,” Diego says, spinning around to face Luther again. “How about we address the fucking elephant in the room that is Klaus.” His hand snaps back, finger pointing right between Klaus’ eyes like a sniper.

“What?” Luther asks, tone sharp, but he falters like he always does when the topic turns to Klaus.

“What?” Echoes Diego, scoffing. “What the fuck is going on with him, Luther? Don’t tell me he’s fine, we all know that’s a fucking lie.”

“He does have a point,” Vanya murmurs, head nodding in agreement. Even Allison agrees. Luther looks rather cornered.

“I don’t know-“

“Shut up with that,” Diego says, waving a hand to dismiss him. “I know Klaus when he’s high, and that isn’t it. Where’d all the scars come from, Luther? Why is he here when you know he’d rather sleep in a dumpster than come back to the Academy? And why the fuck do _you_, of all people, know, and who the fuck is _he_-“ Once more, Diego points at Dave. “And why does he know more than his actual family does?”

“Diego, calm down,” Luther says, taking a few steps closer. Diego bristles, curling his hands into fists.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on right now, Luther, I swear-“

“Calm down, then,” Luther snaps. He sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat, and he catches Klaus’ eyes. Klaus doesn’t react and Luther looks down at his feet. “Look, I don’t know what’s happening, alright? Nor does Dave, really. We don’t know what happened to him-“

“What _do_ you know, then?”

“He’s right, Luther,” Allison says gently, resting her hand on Luther’s forearm. “Please just tell us.”

Luther sighs once more, then nods to the chairs. “Can we sit down?”

Reluctantly, they all shuffle around to sit down. Klaus stares at his hands and listens loosely.

“Klaus would break into the Academy a lot after he left,” Luther says, staring at his brother. “If he wanted to steal something to pawn, if the weather was bad he would come here and stay in the attic and leave before Reginald could find him. He did that again one time, but didn’t leave quick enough. He was ill, and Reginald made him get clean while he stayed in the infirmary. It was that bad winter the year before I went to the moon, so Klaus stayed here.”

Everyone hangs onto Luther’s words, sitting on the edge of their seat and leaning forwards intently, gazes occasionally flicking to Klaus.

“Getting clean, he, uh; he found out he had telekinesis. Dad made him train it. Everything – it was going fine. Then Klaus relapsed, and Dad – I don’t know. He was angry, of course. He took Klaus somewhere, I assumed it was rehab at the time, or wherever he used to go during his special training. He was gone… a while. Dad came back; Klaus didn’t. I assumed he just kicked him out again. Then Dad left, and brought Klaus back, and he was hurt. Badly hurt.” He gestures to Klaus, as if specifically pointing out the scars littering his body.

“And he was like this since. Worse than this. I don’t know what happened. He didn’t and hasn’t spoken about it. Then I got sent to the moon, and when I came back I learned Dad sent Klaus to Gray’s psychiatric hospital. Dave works there and helped Klaus, but I brought him back here. He’s been like this since. Some days are better than others. I don’t – I don’t know what happened to him, okay? But I’m trying to help. Dave,” he pauses, looks to Dave, then continues, “Dave says he disassociates to cope with whatever happened when he was gone. Compared to how he was shortly following the incident, he’s made a lot of progress since.”

Everyone stares at Luther with no words to say, continuing to look back at Klaus every so often.

Voice a little hesitant, Diego asks; “w-what was he like before?”

Luther closes his mouth and looks away. Klaus remembers little following the incident in the mausoleum itself; random flashes of being in his room, of being in the living room, of Reginald’s disgusted expression. Flinching from every touch; screaming and not knowing why; being unable to move his body at all as if he was paralysed. Ben’s sad, scared face and being scared of Ben because, in the moment, all he saw was a ghost.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Luther dismissively, staring at Klaus with a sad look in his eyes.

Silence stretches for several moments. Diego stands in front of him now, crouching slightly to meet his eyes which he blinks rapidly to clear his vision.

He hasn’t seen Diego in a long time, he thinks. He parts his lips to say hello but the word gets lost somewhere on his tongue, so he closes his mouth again.

“Klaus?” Says Diego.

He looks around the place. Blinks.

Less than a whisper; “when’s the family meeting?”

###

“I have to go now,” Dave is saying. Klaus blinks. He is in his bedroom. He doesn’t remember getting there. He was just in the living room.

It doesn’t worry him as much as it probably should.

“I’ll come check in on you again when I can; sorry it’s been a while, work has been really busy with a new patient.”

Klaus watches as Dave lights a stick of incense. The smell stings his nose. The words he is saying don’t quite register in his brain; they echo in his ears and get lost somewhere in his skull. He busies himself around Klaus’ room, picking a few things up, swiftly tidying a few things as he goes, and then he comes back to Klaus’ side and sets a hand on his shoulder, ducking his head to get in his line of sight.

“Try and get some rest, Klaus.”

Klaus blinks. Dave lingers, a sad look to his eyes, a conflicted look on his face.

Klaus blinks.

Dave is gone.

###

Loud sounds. They shatter the fragile air around him. Gunshots. Yelling.

Ben yelling. At him? At him.

Klaus is tired.

He hears his door open. He opens his eyes. A figure stands in his doorway like the ever-approaching Death that follows him.

Hands grab him; thrust him into nothingness and steals his empty corpse.

Klaus blinks away life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to yell in the comments
> 
> Also just in reference to Klaus/Dave; they both care for one another but a relationship would not be fair or good to Klaus, and Dave understands this and refuses to move things forwards


	7. i am the rot and the ache beneath your skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for vague descriptions of torture; panic attacks; blood.

Pain.

It electrifies his mind, slams him back into his body, resuscitates him.

He is in a chair in a room that he has never seen before, surrounded by people he has never seen before. Two of them wear suits and masks; a woman and a man. The others wear blood and dirt and wounds. Ghosts.

The woman wearing a pink mask is twisting a lit cigarette on his forearm. The smell of burnt flesh stings his nose. His ribs struggle to stretch for his gasping lungs.

Where is he? He has no idea where he is. Who are these people? Why is he here? He was just at home. What is happening?

“Oh, look, I think he’s finally with us,” drawls the woman in the pink mask, taking the cigarette away. Klaus notices several other identical circular burns along his arms.

The ghosts sing.  _I begged them to kill me. They are monsters. They will kill you. You will die. You will want them to kill you. You will join us._

He can’t breathe. He closes his eyes, tries to block out the view of the crowd of corpses around him, awaiting his death with bated breath, and tries to tell himself that the two people in suits are not  really there .

One of them hits him. His head snaps to the side and he gasps, digs his nails into the wooden armchair beneath his hands, and opens his eyes. He looks for Ben and finds him nearby, eyes wide with worry.

“Klaus, you’re going to be alright, listen to me; they broke into the house and shot it up looking for Five and took you hostage. Just tell them where Five is. Luther will be looking for you soon.”

He struggles to wrap his mind around it. Where is he?

Fingers dig into his jaw and yank his head forwards to look at the woman, her pink mask looming close. “Took you a while,” she says. “I’m not a patient person. So, I’ll ask again; Five. Where is he?”

Why does she want to know where Five is?

His lips stumble silently over words, panicked, uncertain. His hands twitch uselessly before rapidly repeating, as best he can while they are tied down –  _they’re tied down_ – by duct tape, the sign for  _ I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. _

The woman tips her head to the side curiously. She looks at the man as if the masks aren’t concealing their expressions, and then she turns back to Klaus.

“I don’t know sign language,” she says in a voice that implies that she does, actually, as she continues; “you’ll have to stop wasting my time and use your words.”

He’s trying. He is trying so hard to verbalise that he doesn’t know, but all that comes out of his mouth are gasps and choked noises.

With a sigh, the woman tugs out another cigarette, lights it, and puts it out on the back of his hand.

###

“Where is Five?”

Screams from the dead echo all around him. Eagerly telling him his fate will be the same as theirs. Ghosts. They make the room dark and cold, make the walls close in on him like a coffin. Klaus throws his body around in the chair he is stuck in as if he might be able to shove the walls away. More tape comes to hold his body down even more. Cloth is shoved into his mouth to gag him.

Hands in his hair, he –

He –

###

There is a ghost in a leather jacket and black hoodie. He comes closer to him than the other ones, doesn’t look as gruesome, but he comes close and he can touch him and if he does then the others will realise they can too and-

Klaus screams, flinches away, wide eyes staring at the ghost now wearing a hurt expression until hands grab his face and he stares at a pink mask.

A kettle clicks, finished boiling, and a blue mask brings it over.

Pink reaches for the kettle, taking it from Blue, and tips it over him.

It hits his chest and –

###

His fingers drip blood onto the carpet beneath him. The stone beneath him.

He doesn’t know what a home is, but he wants to go there.

If only his father would let him out.

###

It happens a bit like a flash bang going off.

The mausoleum materialises around him in the chill on his bare skin, the blood from his wounds, the ghosts yelling endlessly around him, and he wants out-

But the instant he thinks about it, accompanied by a sudden flash of pain like a knife slicing through the burnt skin on his chest, his mind short-circuits. It goes pure white and static, flat lines, and the world stops suddenly as if Five has stopped time, and his body freezes.

His mouth is dry, he notices, and then he notices nothing else when his body begins to shake and convulse. Blissful nothingness.

###

Head to toe, he is drenched in water. Maybe he’s drowning. It would explain why his lungs burn as if they have been set on fire and why he is so tired, so drowsy.

Hands in his hair lift his head up when it falls, swinging loose on his neck. Is it even attached still? Hardly.

A woman’s face swims into view and she says words he doesn’t understand.

She drops his head and he doubles over, collapses in on himself like a tower with its foundations being blown out. His head hits his knees. It hurts.

###

Yelling. Everywhere; deafening roaring.

He gasps, jolts in his body. Hands around his neck force him to look at a woman as she yells, though she is drowned out by the ghosts. So many ghosts.

Does Reginald not understand how angry they are?

How much they hate Klaus?

How much they crave even more death?

No one truly understands what the ghosts are like. The sheer anger and hatred they exist on. And now they can channel this anger and hatred out onto Klaus.

He would do anything to make them quiet. It’s lucky, then, that the trip down the stairs in Grace’s heels showed him that he could make them quiet.

###

“Use your words.”

His tongue feels fat in his mouth; taking up the entire space in there. He can’t move it, can’t make a sound. Someone reaches down his throat and squeezes his lungs free of air. A flame dances in front of his left eye and a hand in his wet hair holds his head back from falling straight into it.

“Use your words.”

His body is inside out. He can’t find where it is to make it work.

Where is he?

“Where is Five?”

His mind is like a flashing light, dying and coming back to life every other second, just enough to keep him continuously disoriented and staggering. He needs to focus. Needs to ground himself, needs to  _wake up_ -

He chokes on his own tongue –

A punch –

Something around his neck –

Water, hot, hot, scalding –

A knife, glinting in firelight –

So much screaming, it won’t stop, they know, they know, they  _know_ –

_ Please _

_ Let me out _

_ Dad _

His hands are flooded with heat as if they have been dipped in kerosene and dangled over a candle.

Blue light blinds him. The yelling becomes louder, more real; the ghosts make noise as they stamp and cry and gasp and scream, overwhelming Pink and Blue’s sudden gasp.

Gunshots. The bullets go straight through them. A window shatters. His ears ring like static. Blood, not his own, splatters across him.

He’s going to die. He’s going to die.

_ Dad, please –  _

He doesn’t want to die so young, just following Five’s own assumed death at thirteen –

At nearly thirty –

When?

Is this what Five feels like when he time travels? Everywhere all at once? Living everything at the same time?

At least Five is alive.

Klaus has never existed in the first place.

Can he call himself Klaus?

What is his name?

He is not a person; he is the chill in a graveyard at night; he is the ghostly blue light like a police car’s lights flashing over a murder scene; the low music at a funeral; he is the heat of freshly spilled blood, the depth of an ocean, the nothingness of space. He does not, truly, exist in terms of being human and being alive and being real.

Can he be scared when neither he nor anything else truly exists?

Silence booms around him; oppressive, suffocating. His teeth rattle in his haste to break the silence with breathless muttering, pleading.

A door swings open.

Four figures that look too human to be Death – Death does not have worry and fear in her eyes like these shadows do – come to him.

Klaus thinks he ought to be scared of Death.

He can’t remember who, but someone would be proud of him – or maybe not proud, but no longer inconvenienced by it – for getting over such a silly little fear.

###

The revelation of the monstrosity that is his deformed body sends him spiralling into a similar mind set as the one he had been in when he first woke up from the accident and saw himself.

Luther hurries away from his siblings, chandelier crunching beneath his feet as he goes, and he goes straight for his bedroom so that he can hide himself. It takes him all of three minutes to get there and to be in a new jumper, disguising his appearance once more.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he can bring himself to look in the mirror finally.

His body is too big, still, disproportionate and incredibly  _wrong_ , not him, but he can pretend as long as he can’t see it.

His fingers tug at the hem of his jumper, pulling it down slightly, and then he finally turns away from the mirror. His eyes roam his bedroom, over model planes and plants that he had busied himself making following the accident in an attempt to distract himself with anything. 

His eyes fall onto the tiny potted plant sitting on his windowsill. It is the one that Klaus got him – he remembers the day. He had not seen Klaus for a long while, shutting himself in his bedroom as he had, and Klaus had come, opened the door, walked in with the plant and walked him through how to care for it. He had obsessed with taking care of it for a while, frantically striving to not let it die; it gave him a reason to care. 

He lets his finger run feather-light over one of the green leaves. 

He had truly never seen him and Klaus bonding. Their relationship was worst second only to his and Diego’s relationship and had only ever worsened each time Klaus, reeking of booze and weed, had stumbled inside, stuffed his pockets full of expensive ornaments, and staggered back out. He never had, and still doesn’t, approve of Klaus’ decision to turn to drugs and to throw his life away, but he is his brother. 

He would never say that he is glad for whatever happened to Klaus, but it did give him a chance he doesn’t doubt he never would have had otherwise to bond with his brother. He never would have gotten to see Klaus like this, or talk to him as he does. Honestly, even as he had to take care of Klaus, he thinks that Klaus has helped him a lot, too; dealing with his own insecurity of his body.

Plus, although he would never admit it, he believes that Klaus has helped him see some things that he never would have.

There is a reason his other siblings do not like Reginald, and Luther had seen why when he lingered in the doorway of the living room and saw Klaus, skin littered in raised pink marks, his cheeks hollow and eyes empty, stand with his head hanging in front of Reginald, and how he had watched Reginald raise his hand and strike Klaus. His cheek had grown pink and he had flinched, delayed, and looked confused and afraid for a brief moment. 

As much as it pains him to think, how the idea seems entirely wrong, it could never be true, that whatever happened to Klaus was Reginald’s fault. Or Reginald had known whatever happened, and how he reacted with disgust at Klaus’ weakness and fear. He struggles to believe that Reginald would have purposefully put Klaus in a situation where he would be so injured and traumatised, but there has been an ever-growing seed of doubt towards the sincerity of his father, and now he isn’t so sure of what to think.

He turns away from the plant with a sigh. He ought to check on him; the shooting might have triggered him and, plus, he had promised Dave he would be more watchful of Klaus, and aside from breakfast he isn’t sure Klaus has eaten anything. 

He leaves his room a little hesitantly, still longing to hide away inside for a little longer, but he continues on to Klaus’ room. He lifts a hand to knock on his door only to realise it is open. “Klaus?” He calls, stepping inside. His room is empty. His bedsheets are a mess and the window is open. His eyebrows furrow and he looks over once more before heading back into the corridor. Dave had taken him up to his bedroom after the family meeting, but perhaps he had gone elsewhere. He wasn’t downstairs. 

He checks the bathroom first. It is empty. He goes up to his private garden, then, walking with careful footsteps. “Klaus?” He calls out. “Klaus, are you here?” 

He steps inside, careful not to move any plants or shove them and send them falling. He walks to the end of the garden in case Klaus is huddled low between the plants. 

The garden is empty.

It is here that he feels a jolt of panic run through him. Klaus has not had a tendency to wander aimlessly since before he had been sent to the psychiatric hospital and Luther had been to the moon; and even then, someone always found him and brought him back to his room or his garden.

With some speed in his steps, he leaves the garden and goes back downstairs, hollering; “family meeting!”

It takes five minutes for everyone, sans Vanya who must have left already, to come back down into the living room, side-stepping the wreck of the chandelier.

“What is it?” Allison asks. 

“Have any of you seen Klaus?” He asks, standing a little straighter. 

“Didn’t that guy take him upstairs?” Diego says, eyebrow raised. His voice is croaky and his eyes red-rimmed.

“He did,” Luther nods. “He isn’t there now. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I’m sure he’s around,” says Allison. “Or maybe he’s outside.”

Luther shakes his head. “Klaus doesn’t go outside,” he states, and he eyes the broken chandelier and thinks of the open window in his bedroom. “Where is Five?”

“What?”

“Five; those people were looking for Five. We need to go find him.”

“Luther, will you calm down? What are you saying?”

He huffs a breath, looks away and shuffles on the spot. “Klaus’ window was open. I think - I think they might have taken him.”

Diego and Allison stare at him, then exchange looks. “Serious.”

Luther nods. “We need to find Five. Figure out who they were, and maybe he’ll know where they’ll be. If Klaus comes back here, Pogo will be here for him, but he wouldn’t go outside by himself.”

The tone of his voice must solidify how he truly believes that, because they both nod. Without another word, they head outside together. 

### 

Allison decides to stay by the van they find; Diego had remembered Five saying something about a prosthetic and they had narrowed it down to this lab. Diego and Luther go elsewhere together; continuing to search throughout the city nearby the lab.

They find him hovering outside a library. A mannequin tucked under one arm, a bottle of wine in his hand, he stares up at the sun glaring off the tall windows of the city library.

“Five!” Yells Diego. “Five, hey!”

Five’s head snaps to the side and his eyes narrow, watching both brothers hurry towards him. He looks dishevelled; more so than Luther thinks he has ever seen him before. The bottle is half-empty.

“What?” He snaps, grip on the mannequin tightening. Diego and Luther share a look but neither of them decide to comment on it.

“We need to talk,” says Luther. “Come on.”

With a huff, Five follows them down the street and round the corner, to a quieter place, muttering, “this better be important.”

“Two people just shot up the house looking for you,” Luther states. Five’s eyebrows arch curiously at that; his face turns thoughtful.

“I suppose that was Hazel and Cha-Cha, then. Pink and blue masks?”

“How did you-”

“I assumed they’d be coming after me soon,” Five sighs, staring down the neck of his wine. “What did they say, then?”

“They just wanted to talk to you, but where do you think they’d be now?”

Five narrows his eyes suspiciously, eying the two of them. “If you’re thinking of going after them again to try and win the little fight that you miraculously survived with them, don’t be stupid. You got lucky-”

“They have Klaus, Five,” Diego interrupts. “Kidnapped him.”

Five pauses, face twitching. He wasn’t at the meeting and so he shouldn’t know the extent of Klaus’ situation, but Five had always been smart; he probably got the gist of it from the brief glance of him the night of the funeral.

“Oh,” he says, turning his gaze to the sky. “Well, they probably took him to try and get information on my whereabouts from him. They have a few stops around here. I doubt they would have gone far.”

“Take us to find him, then,” says Luther. Five eyes them, pursing his lips and looking down at the mannequin. Then he disappears. Luther only has a second to sigh, irritated, before Five returns, arms empty. 

“Come on, then,” he says with a sigh, and he turns and walks down the street.

### 

They check three motels. 

Five seems to know where they are going with suspicious preciseness. 

He walks along motel doors, peering into specific numbers, cautious. He forces him and Diego to stay a few steps back at all times, constantly wired up and ready for a fight. 

It is not until the fourth motel, just after the first abandoned crack house they checked, that they find him.

There are cop cars around; they must have only just arrived. Diego recognises one woman and they all flood to her, looking for answers before they can just trespass into an apparent crime scene.

“Eudora, what’s going on?”

The woman bristles, looks slightly exasperated, as she regards Diego. “You know not to call me that,” she states. “And you can’t be here-”

“Please,” says Diego, tone suddenly desperate, as if the façade he has held up while they have been looking to Klaus finally fades. His eyes look deeper into the parking lot, eying the rooms around them. “W-what’s the call?”

Something in her face falters and she sighs, eying him and Five. “Shots fired,” she says. “Yelling; probably just a drug deal gone wrong – Diego-”

They are already rushing past the officers. “Five, where-”

“Follow me,” says the brunette, something etched deep into his face. “They wouldn’t use a gun here,” he mutters, more to himself, as if trying to piece something together. 

They hurry up a set of stairs, coming out onto the doorsteps to the second floor of the motel rooms, and then they pause. 

One window has been blown out; shattered glass lays everywhere. Five’s eyes narrow at the sight and he creeps forwards; with a twitch of his hands and flash of blue, one of Diego’s knives appear in his hand.

Diego takes out two knives; Luther braces himself, curling his hands into fists and studying the place around them, noting exits and places for cover. They approach the room with the broken window. 

Almost silent, he nearly doesn’t catch it. Muttering. Breathless and wheezing, a hoarse voice muttering something he can’t quite make out in the room.

The door is unlocked; Five shoves it open, raising his knife.

The room is a mess. Furniture thrown about, holes in the wall, lights broken. Blood is smeared across the walls, pooling on the floor. Opposite the door, hanging out of the doorway to the bathroom, he sees two suit-clad legs on the floor. 

The smell of blood is overwhelming. The room looks as if a tornado has ripped through it.

And, in the middle of it all, slumped over with his head on his knees and tied to a chair, is Klaus. 

“Shit-”

“The fuck-”

Five flashes to the opposite end of the room, staring into the bathroom. Whatever he sees there, he mutters, “what the fuck.”

“Diego,” says a new voice, the woman from earlier, “you can’t be here – shit.”

Diego doesn’t look at Eudora. Both he and Luther approach Klaus slowly, taking in the bruises, the blood, the burns. He is only wearing sweatpants; his shirt has been torn off and lays in a heap by his feet. He is soaked, dripping water and trembling. He is muttering. 

Luther has to strain his ears to make out the words.

_ “Please, I want to go home, Dad, please, I’ll be good, let me out, Dad, please, please, I’m not scared, I’ll be good, Dad-” _

Diego shares a look with Luther. He crouches, reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “K-Klaus?” His other hand reaches up to his jaw, lifting his head. His eyes are wide, glazed, staring straight through Diego.

“Please, Dad,” he breathes. “I want to go home. They’re so angry, please, I don’t want to be here. They want to hurt. They’re so angry. Dad, please-“

“We need to go,” says Five, voice urgent, turning to look at them. 

Diego startles slightly, eyes glancing back to their brother, and then he reaches forwards, carefully slicing through the tape that encircles his wrists, just below his elbows, on his ankles, and his shins. Klaus doesn’t react. 

Five comes close, staring at Klaus. He hesitates, seems conflicted, and then he starts to hurriedly search the room.

“This is still a crime scene,” Eudora tries to say, though over the rush of Five looking around, Klaus’ muttering, and Luther and Diego trying to coax Klaus onto his feet, she goes largely unheard by. Instead, she turns to the legs sticking out of the bathroom door and Luther follows her; his chest feels tight looking at Klaus and if they think that they can get away with doing this, then they are wrong. 

Stepping over the legs, Luther looks down at the person, going to grab them to pull them up. 

He stops himself when he sees the blood. 

The bathroom is coated in it. Evident in the stained hand prints on the floor, on the wall, on the broken porcelain sink, there was a struggle. A large struggle. The window is smashed, guns laying discarded around, and simply so much blood. The two people who had shot up the house lay motionless, eyes blank, covered in wounds that make them look as if a pack of wild dogs have torn into them.

Luther swallows back surprise and bile and quickly steps away.

“What the hell happened,” he mutters, coming back to look at everyone else. 

Five looks faintly disturbed. “I have no idea.” He looks back at Klaus, still sitting down, trembling and muttering that disturbing mantra of his. “No one would have come after them; no one that would have been able to kill them and leave Klaus alive that isn’t me.”

He reaches forwards, gently taking hold of Klaus’ chin, forcing him to look at Five. “Klaus,” he says, “What happened? Do you know what happened?”

Klaus’ muttering stops. He blinks at Five, eyes watery, and his lips twitch, body slumping slightly. “They’re so angry,” he says, expression caught somewhere between a smile and upset. He drops his gaze to his hands. “And I keep making them real.”

It is not a real answer. It doesn’t explain what happened, but Klaus stares at his hands as they shake more and more, and then he closes his eyes and lifts his hands to his face, muffling his voice as he whispers; “please, Dad, help me.”

Everyone exchanges looks; pinched expressions and thoughtful eyes.

“W-we need to get him home,” says Diego, coaxing Klaus onto his feet. Klaus stands and then his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back and his knees give out; Luther is quick to catch him before he hits the ground and he shifts his grip on his brother so that he can carry him.

Five picks up a briefcase he had taken, ignoring Eudora’s gentle protest.

“I-I’m sorry,” Diego stammers to her on the way out. “I’ll – I’ll talk later, I – sorry-“

And then they rush out, past the flashing lights, the uniforms, and into a car that Five has running within fifteen seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda dissatisfied with this?? But hey ho it’s up now, feel free to let me know what you thought! <3


	8. settle in, sure as a shadow

Luther sits with Klaus in the backseat of the car Five has just decided to steal, and Five takes the driving wheel after throwing the briefcase he also stole into Diego’s lap. Luther decides not to comment on how they very much should not be stealing a random persons’ car or from a crime scene, and instead turns his focus to his unconscious brother beside him. He tries not to jostle him too much, unaware of the extent of his wounds, but he’s sure he hasn’t gotten any broken bones. He has a wheeze when he breathes, although his neck is a mottle of angry red marks, and when Luther looks closer he can see thin lines around his neck, and he can easily tell he must have been strangled with a garrotte. He exhales slowly, feeling anger surge up in him that those people dared to kidnap and hurt his brother when he is completely vulnerable and helpless, and he feels anger at himself for allowing Klaus to be taken and not being there to protect him.

He knows Klaus is unable to defend himself. He knows Klaus is unable to protect himself. And yet it wasn’t a priority of his to make sure he himself saw Klaus to a safer place, that he didn’t immediately check for him afterwards. It is his fault that his brother is in this position. He can’t even imagine what kind of toll this will take on Klaus’ mental health, and he feels sick with the idea that he will be back to square one, losing all the progress he made since then, or that he might even be worse than that somehow. Although he feels guilty for thinking it, part of him hopes that Klaus was disassociated for the majority of what happened and that he didn’t witness whatever had happened that killed the two of them in such a violent fashion.

He peels the glove off of one of his hands and reaches out gently to measure Klaus’ pulse, weak and unsteady but rising to meet his touch, and so he slips the gloves back on and tries to figure if he can do anything to help him before they reach the Academy. As it is, though, stuck in the backseat of this car, all he can do is try to hold him in a comfortable position. He tries not to let his mind wander to the anger and self-blame running through him, but it is hard to do when there is the simple, indisputable fact that it is Luther’s job to look out for his siblings as Number One, as their brother, especially when they are unable to do so themselves, and he failed.

He inhales shakily, making sure his grip is tight on Klaus no matter how much he wants to hold him closer to him as if he might be able to protect him now, all too aware of his own strength that can often times slip his mind. He isn’t about to cause Klaus any more pain.

“Where are we going?” He asks sharply when he realises they are not going in the direction of the Academy. Diego sits a little straighter at the realisation too, looking out the windows and back to Five.

“None of us are trained to help Klaus and Mom is dead,” Five states, voice cold. “He needs a hospital.”

“No,” Luther blurts, and Diego turns to give him a look.

“Luther, you know jack shit about how to help any of this, he needs a hospital, now,” says Diego, looking down at their brother. Luther can’t help but subconscious bunch his shoulders, holding Klaus closer to himself.

“He hates hospitals,” he defends, shaking his head. “It’ll make him worse. Trust me, we can’t take him to a hospital.” He pauses, trailing off, trying to think quickly. “Dave’s. Take him to Dave’s,” he insists, leaning a little forwards to tell Five his address. “Dave helps Klaus, he can help us now. He knows some first aid, he can help.”

Five looks at him in the rear-view mirror, pressing his lips together, then eyes Klaus. “Fuck,” he hisses, and then takes the nearest turn to take them in the direction of Dave’s apartment.

Luther only hopes he isn’t at work at the moment.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Diego asks. “Better than a hospital?”

“You know he hates hospitals,” Luther states. “It would be bad for him right now – after that, he can’t deal with a hospital on top of it. Dave can help.”

Diego doesn’t look so convinced, and Luther doesn’t blame him. He is putting everything on Dave being at home right now, and Dave knowing enough first aid knowledge to help with Klaus if Grace can’t. If Dave isn’t in, then it will be a rush to get Klaus to the hospital, and he can only hope he remains unconscious so he won’t realise where they are taking him.

Dave had given he and Klaus his address after Klaus left the hospital just in case he should ever need his help, and though they had never taken him up on the offer – had never been in enough of a situation where Klaus needed Dave’s help desperately enough – and he is just grateful he had managed to memorise it after Dave’s insistence that they were welcome if they needed him.

So, when Five pulls up on the street, Luther leads the way with Klaus in his arms up the winding staircase until he finds his door number. Diego gives him an uncertain look, but reaches forwards to press the doorbell. Luther finds himself almost holding his breath as he waits to see whether or not Dave will open it. A few moments pass by in which he feels his hope rapidly dwindle, and Five shifts uncertainly. “Luther, he really needs to go to the hospital now,” he says, and Luther opens his mouth to respond when he hears the lock on the door turn, and the door slides open.

Dave, clad in sweatpants and a loose shirt, greets them all. “Hello – shit,” he says, and any trace of sleep disappears from his face when his eyes instantly fall on Klaus. Luther gives him a desperate look, hands twitching on Klaus.

“Please help,” he says, voice soft, and Dave doesn’t need to hear anything else to step aside. He guides them all into the living room, gesturing for Luther to lay Klaus down on the couch, and then he disappears into another room.

Klaus doesn’t so much as stir throughout it all. Luther hovers by his side, staring down at his brother with guilty eyes. He hears Diego and Five moving around behind him, looking around the apartment. Luther can’t pry his eyes off Klaus until he hears Dave hurrying back, his arms full of different kind of supplies that he dumps on the coffee table.

“What the hell happened to him?” Dave asks. His eyes roam up and down Klaus, trying to study his wounds, and then he kneels down. He starts peeling off the wet sweatpants clinging to his legs, setting them aside in a wet heap, and then he lifts one of the towels he brought with him and hands another to Luther. “Help me dry him off, he’s freezing.”

Instantly, Luther gets to work, gentle dabbing his skin dry and running the towel gently through his hair. “The house – we were attacked,” says Luther, throat tight. “They… they took Klaus hostage and it took us too long to find him. They did this to him.”

Dave lifts his head, staring at Luther with wide eyes for several moments, in evident disbelief. “Shit,” he mutters, and continues patting Klaus’ stomach dry. “Is everyone else okay?” He asks, turning to look at a hovering Diego and Five briefly.

“Everyone’s fine,” says Diego dismissively. “But he needs help. Luther said you know first aid.”

“Well, I’m no doctor, but I know enough,” Dave sighs.

“What can we do?” Diego asks, stepping closer, and there is a hint of desperation in both his tone and his face, and after a moment of Dave staring at him, he holds out a tube of cream.

“You can help by putting this on his burns,” he states. “Rub it in gently and then cover it with that.” Diego doesn’t hesitate to come close, taking the cream and kneeling by Klaus’ side to begin to do just that. Dave starts to gently wash away the blood on his skin to get a look at the actual wounds, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Someone ought to phone Allison,” says Five, looking at Luther. “Let her know we found him.”

Luther nods his head, turning to Dave. “Have you got a phone-“

“Here.” Dave tugs his mobile out of his pocket, holding it out to Luther. He takes it, hurriedly putting in Allison’s personal number and holding it to his ear. It rings several times and he shifts anxiously on the spot, fearing she might not pick up, but she finally does.

“Hello? Who is this?”

He can’t help but sigh with relief as she picks up, although he knows now she was never in any danger, Hazel and Cha-Cha both dead. “It’s me,” he says, then adds, “Luther.”

“Oh, good. There’s not been any sight of-“

“We found him,” Luther interrupts. His eyes stray once more to Klaus, unmoving as Diego and Dave tend to him, and Five, hovering nearby and clutching that briefcase, lips pressed into a tight line. “I was right. They took him.”

“Shit,” breathes Allison. “Is he okay?”

Luther hesitates, toying with his bottom lip between his teeth. “He, uh – they hurt him. We’re taking care of him just now – we’re not at the Academy, but you ought to go back. We’ll bring him back when we can.”

“Alright,” she says, sounding conflicted. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luther agrees, and hands Dave his phone back after saying a brief goodbye. He scrubs a hand down his face, sighing, and once more turns his attention back to Klaus. After a moment of hesitating, afraid of the answer, he finally asks, “will he be okay?”

Dave sits back on his heels at the question, hands limp in his lap. “Physically? All of this should heal up fine as long as it’s kept clean. Nothing needs stitches, there are no broken bones, and he’ll just need to let his body rest, keep the wounds clean and such. You’ll have to watch his head when he wakes up – he’s been hit a few times. Mentally?” He pauses, lips pressing together, his face falling into a solemn expression. “I don’t know how he’ll cope with it. From what I know, the first traumatic experience he had was also violent in its nature, and he might relate the two. I wouldn’t be surprised if he lost some of the progress he’s made.” His face falls and he shakes his head softly. “You should get him home before he can wake up. It’ll be better for him to wake up somewhere familiar. If you want me to come with you and try to help once he wakes up, I’m free tomorrow.”

Diego opens his mouth, a spark of protectiveness in his eyes, likely ready to deny Dave’s offer, but Luther interrupts him before he has the chance to do so. “That would be great,” he says. “I’d appreciate if you would.”

Dave offers him a tight smile. “Of course,” he says, and he stands up. “He can borrow some of my clothes until you get him home,” he adds, and he disappears for only a brief moment before returning with a pair of sweatpants and a sweater, which Luther helps him get Klaus into. He hates the way Klaus is limp and pliant when they move him, unresponsive and out cold, and yet he isn’t entirely sure he is ready to face a conscious Klaus yet; afraid of how Klaus might act and behave.

“We should leave now, then,” he utters, slipping one hand beneath Klaus’ knees and winding the other around his back. With ease, Luther lifts Klaus up, holding him against his chest, and Klaus doesn’t stir.

“I need to take care of this briefcase,” announces Five, lifting it up slightly. “To keep the Commission of our back and to stop them from attacking the house again. Get him home.”

“You’re leaving now?” Diego asks, tone accusatory, and Five glares at him.

“The Commission will strike again, with or without Hazel and Cha-Cha being there. I have the chance to stop that from happening. I don’t think it would be very good to have Klaus around another attack.”

“Do what you have to do,” says Luther. “But be quick. Do you need any help?”

Five shakes his head, shifting his grip on the briefcase. “Nah, I’ve got it. Just get him home alright.” And, with no other words to say, Five flips open the briefcase and promptly disappears in a flash of blue light.

“Christ,” Diego mutters, shaking his head. Dave lingers, staring at the spot Five had disappeared from for several moments before shaking himself from his daze. “We should go,” says Diego, and Luther doesn’t think he’s ever agreed with his brother more.

Once again, he finds himself in the backseat with Klaus. Diego drives them home and Dave sits in the passenger’s seat, a bag he hastily shoved full of clothes for tomorrow on his lap, and the drive is tense. Diego’s eyes continuously flick to them in the rear-view mirror and Dave is less subtle, turning his head to look back at them every so often, but for the entirety of the drive Klaus doesn’t stir. His head rests against Luther’s shoulder and Luther has to hold him when the car turns corners so that he doesn’t fall.

It is easy to side-step the mess in the Academy, the shattered chandelier still lying out with shards spread out, reaching as far as the staircase, and to bring Klaus up to his bedroom to place him gently on his bed. Dave looks at the place with a grim expression, eying all of the signs of the fight that had went down, but he doesn’t slip behind them.

Taking a step back, Luther flexes his hands by his side. He wishes Grace were here to help; she’d always been gentle with Klaus, and Klaus seemed to take comfort in their mother’s presence. He had been afraid, at first, that should her software be degrading that she might pose a threat or danger to Klaus, truly, and that perhaps it would be best to switch her off. Klaus wouldn’t like the decision, but he didn’t rely so much on the familiarity of Grace’s care like he used to, and he had thought it would be the best decision to keep Klaus safe. Perhaps he had been wrong.

“I ought to go phone Eudora – the detective at the scene,” says Diego, voice quiet. “Make sure we’re in the clear after running in for him.”

Luther bobs his head in an agreeable nod. “Probably for the best,” he murmurs, allowing Diego to excuse himself hesitantly, and then he himself settles into the chair at the foot of Klaus’ bed. Dave hovers, a thoughtful expression on his face before he ends up lighting a stick of lavender incense on Klaus’ dresser, and then he settles down on the floor, leaning against the wall. There is nothing they can do except for wait for Klaus to wake up.

He is nearly dozing off in the chair when Klaus begins to move. His face pinches as he wakes up, body stretching slightly, muscles tensing. And then, all of a sudden, he goes tense and rigid. He screws his face up, rolling his wrists, and then curls his fingers into the blanket beneath him. His eyes open and Luther has to stop himself from standing up abruptly, all too aware that the last thing Klaus needs to see is a large form suddenly propelling towards him.

“Hey, Klaus,” says Dave, his voice soft and gentle. He shifts onto his knees and comes a little closer to the bed, remaining on his knees, his hands lifted slightly to be in his sight. “Hey. It’s just me, you and Luther here, in your room.”

Klaus’ eyes rapidly flit around his bedroom, his chest rising with a sharp breath. He takes in Dave, his bedroom, and then Luther, and blinks rapidly. He struggles to sit upright, slumping against his headboard, grimacing and cringing at the aches he undoubtedly still feels. His lips stutter over air, a tight noise struggling from his throat, and then he lifts a hand and rapidly, repeatedly signs _what?_

“Do you remember what happened?” Dave asks him. Klaus stares at him with wide eyes, hands trembling over his chest. He nods once, sharply, and his eyes jump to the side, staring at nothing in particular. He signs again, things too frantic and fast for Luther to make out, and then he lifts his hands and runs them through his hair to cradle his head. He pulls his knees to his chest, shakes his head, and Luther resists the urge to reach out and touch him.

“Luther and Diego and Five found you,” Dave continues. “They brought you to mine so I could look over you, and then we brought you back here. Can you look at me, please?”

Klaus’ hands tremble, signing by his chest, again and again; _dead_, _dead_, _dead_.

Dave looks to Luther, raising an eyebrow, and Luther swallows. “Hazel and Cha-Cha won’t come back,” he says, and Klaus makes a frustrated noise.

“Klaus, can you look at me? Please?” Dave asks again, and though it takes him several moments, Klaus lifts his head up and meets Dave’s gaze with wide, tearful eyes. “You’re home now, Klaus,” Dave tells him. “You’ve been doing great, and you’re going to be okay. Luther and I are here for you just now, you’re okay.”

Klaus stares at him, inhales sharply, and then his eyes ump to the side and his face screws up. He covers his face with his hands, shoulders trembling as he simply bursts into tears.

Luther moves from his place on the chair to perch on Klaus’ bed, leaving a fair space between them. He struggles to find the right words for this moment, struggles to think what words could potentially offer some kind of comfort and fix this situation his brother has just been through.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Klaus,” he says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you and that I couldn’t find you any quicker. I’m sorry, and I want to help you now. You,” he pauses, swallows, and his tongued ashes across his dry lips. “You’ve been doing so well lately, and I know you’re stronger than you think. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Klaus’ shoulders bounce as he speaks, fingers curling against his face and pressing down. Then he reaches one hand out to Luther, and Luther takes it. He allows Klaus to hesitantly tug him closer, and when Klaus doesn’t protest, he drapes an arm around him. Klaus curls one hand into Luther’s jumper, his other remaining by his face as if trying to hide himself. Luther runs one hand up and down his arm gently, aware of how fragile Klaus feels – how fragile he is, especially when compared to Luther and his enhanced strength – and Klaus continues to cry.

He whispers things in a breathy voice, words falling rapidly from his lips, and Luther struggles to make most of it out, although he thinks a large part of it simply consists of the repetitive manta composed of _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._

What a Number One he is, he thinks bitterly as Klaus breaks down in front of him. Despite his role as Number One, as the leader, he thinks he isn’t any good at being there for his family when they need him. He can’t protect any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luther is a good brother and I won't stand for anything else


	9. a bottle for our fears

Klaus manages to exhaust himself crying, evidently also worn out still from the events of the day, for when his crying begins to soften he falls asleep against his shoulder. Luther supports him, holding him up easily, and his stomach feels uneasy, flipping and turning with guilt and shame, and Dave watches them with a sad expression.

Dave can all but see Luther’s internal conflict written all other his face. He might not know everything about the Hargreeves, but in his time working with Klaus and then Luther, he’d learned enough about the both of them to tell exactly what Luther is thinking.

Of course he had heard about the Umbrella Academy, born in the same year and hearing them all over the news, though the older he got the more he wondered just what went on behind the scenes. Now only confirms that everything wasn’t what it seemed for a single one of the kids.

“He’s exhausted,” he says, drawing Luther’s attention to him. “And you must be too. I can set up camp there.” He nods his head to the chair Luther had earlier been sitting in, and he rises from the floor to cross over to it, knees groaning.

“I’ll watch him,” Luther insists, holding Klaus closer against him. Dave gives Luther a soft smile, coming up to him and sitting down beside him on the bed.

“It’s late,” he states, “and Klaus likely isn’t going to wake up until the morning – his body needs rest. He’ll need you once he wakes up, and you can’t help him if you’re tripping over your own feet and dozing off. If he wakes up or if something happens, I’ll come get you.”

Luther eyes Dave warily, then turns his gaze down to Klaus. He swallows audibly, conflicted, but finally he nods in agreement. “Yeah,” he utters, running one hand down Klaus’ arm. “Yeah, of course.” Slowly, carefully, as to not disrupt Klaus, he manoeuvres around and lowers Klaus gently onto his bed, head on his pillow, and then pulls his blanket out and over him. He stands over his bedside for several moments, eying his brother’s tear-streaked face, and then he looks back to Dave.

“I’m just down the hall if – if anything happens,” he says. Dave smiles.

“I know.”

“And, uh. We have a lot of spare bedrooms,” he adds. “It would be more comfortable than that.” He gestures at the chair beside Klaus’ bed and Dave nods his head.

“Thanks, Luther. Try and get some rest too.”

Luther hesitates in the doorway for a moment longer, eyes bouncing between the two men before he nods. “Goodnight, Dave. Thank you for your help.”

“Any time, Luther,” Dave reassures him, and then he sits down on the chair at the foot of Klaus’ bed and watches Luther leave. He doesn’t think Klaus will get up during the night, but he pulls his phone out to set a few alarms spread out so that he can get up and come to check on him if he does end up sleeping in another spare bedroom down the hall. He’ll wake up earlier, too, so he can move back here so Klaus doesn’t wake up alone.

Nonetheless, for the moment he lingers, gaze on Klaus as he sleeps. He gets up, taking a few steps closer to him to fix the blanket over him, smoothing it out and lifting it a little higher up his shoulders.

It simply isn’t fair, he thinks. Everything Klaus has gone through, only to begin to make progress and have this happen to him. It simply isn’t fair, and he feels horrible. Klaus deserves his recovery and his happy ending, and yet it seems as if whatever higher power is out there has it out against him. Dave can only hope that Klaus has made enough progress that he can process this and continue to move forwards, and Dave will help in any way that he can, and he knows that Luther will be there to help too, and hopefully their other siblings will be too.

Dave does a quick sweep around the room, ensuring no candles have been left alight, that the window is closed and locked, that a lamp is left on to illuminate the room, knowing Klaus’ fear of the dark, and then he steps closer to Klaus. Gently, he pushes his hair back from his face, listens to his breathing and is satisfied to hear it deep and steady, and then he steps back.

Luther has shown him the spare bedrooms before, and he typically takes the one closest to Klaus’ as possible, even if it is down the corridor and around the corner. He leaves Klaus’ door slightly ajar, footsteps quiet as he takes himself through to his the spare bedroom he has used multiple times before when he had to help Klaus at the academy.

In all of his time helping him, he had only ever seen Reginald Hargreeves twice. Once when he brought Klaus in by himself to his hospital, and once when Luther took him home and Dave popped by to help. Reginald had been brief and fleeting when signing Klaus in; vague and accusatory. He filled in what papers were necessary, dropped whatever money they needed from him, and all but shoved Klaus off onto someone else. He was in and out within ten minutes. There wasn’t a shred of emotion as he walked back out, leaving Klaus standing on the spot, lost and alone and unable to help himself, unaware of where he was, with bruises around his upper arm where Reginald had been holding him, like a dog on a leash.

The second time he had been with Klaus in the dining room at breakfast, coaxing him to eat if only a little, and Reginald had wandered by and paused in the doorway. One hand on his cane, he had his head tilted so that he could stare down his nose at Klaus and Dave. They made eye contact, and Dave had to supress a shiver. There was something unnerving about him; something that dug right beneath his skin and made him want to run and not look back. Then, he had simply said; “You are wasting your time on him, Katz.”

Had he thought his gaze had been bad enough, his voice was worse. Dave had shivered then, and had tightened his grip on the arm of Klaus’ chair he was leaning against, inexplicable fear rising in his gut as if something about the man was simply so inherently wrong, and then there had been the anger that arose after it. A sudden fury that had him wanting to curse the man out for everything he had done to Klaus, the things Klaus never needed to say; the way Klaus could make progress and then shatter it if he saw Reginald walk past or heard his cane down the corridor.

Before he had had the chance, however, Klaus had blinked at him with a vaguely confused and lost expression, uttering a soft, “Dave?” Immediately his attention had shifted, his tension melting, anger fading to a gentle smile as he approached Klaus, and he ignored Reginald. A second later and the man walked away anyway, and Dave never saw him again no matter when he was there, where in the academy he was, and no matter how long he was there for. He is perfectly happy to have never seen the man again.

Especially when he walks the halls of the kids’ bedrooms and has to avert his gaze forcibly from the walls and the childish cartoon pictures with labelled instructions on them. _Disarm. Restrain. Gouge_. _Kill_.

He settles into one of the many bare bedrooms, setting his phone beside his bed. After double-checking his alarms, Dave sinks into the bed and falls asleep quickly.

The first alarm wakes him and he slaps the snooze button on his screen automatically before remembering just why he set an alarm for two in the morning. He props himself up on his elbows, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and he has to force his movements to be careful and quiet as he gets out of bed, still groggy and half-asleep.

He shuffles back down the corridor, to the light coming from one doorway, and then steps into Klaus’ bedroom; poking his head around the door. Klaus has not moved since he left him, and is still fast asleep, much to Dave’s relief. Klaus doesn’t need to deal with nightmares and exhaustion on top of all of this.

He lingers to watch for a few more moments, just in case Klaus should suddenly jolt awake, but he hardly so much as twitches. Dave goes back to bed.

Klaus doesn’t move any time Dave checks in on him. When he gets up for the last time, sun rising, deciding to move into Klaus’ bedroom to sit on the chair should he wake up soon like usual and not be alone, Klaus still has hardly moved.

Dave fixes the slightly-shifted blankets over him that have fallen in his sleep, and then he settles down onto the chair beside his bed. He spends some time on his phone, absently just trying to waste time, but periodically he continues to doze off for short lengths of time again. For the last time, he picks his head up when it droops with sleep, and peers at the bright screen of his phone.

Typically, Klaus would have woken by now and Dave would be trying to coax some breakfast into him, but Dave decides that he needs the rest, especially after yesterday and his tendency to have nightmares that leave him shaken all night. He chooses not to wake him, quietly leaving the room to gather his clothes from the bag he hastily brought with him, and then he goes to the nearest bathroom to freshen up and change.

He stuffs his previous outfit into his bag, carrying it over his shoulder and then he leaves the bathroom. His eyes span down the corridor out of habit before he turns to put his bag away, only to freeze and do a double-take.

Klaus is standing in the corridor. His hair is a mess from sleep, and he holds his hands together loosely by his chest; his shoulders are hunched in on himself and if he scrutinises him, Dave thinks he can see him trembling. Klaus isn’t looking his way, and he doesn’t seem to react when Dave calls his name and begins to come closer.

It isn’t until he is right beside him that Klaus finally turns, as if sensing he is there, and his eyes are wide and afraid. “Dave?”

“Hey, Klaus,” he says, softly, holding out one hand. “What are you doing out here?”

Klaus blinks rapidly, eyes bouncing around the place. He cranes his head over his shoulders to peer at his bedroom door and exhales shakily. Dave watches as he absently scratches at the back of his other hand. “I – I woke up,” he stammers. He looks down the corridor, then down the other way; scratches his hand again. “I was alone, in my room, and it was – in my room, they – he came, in my room, and – I was alone – he grabbed me, and I was alone, and…” He trails off, as if unsure where he was going with the sentence, but Dave makes the connection easily enough.

“You’re okay now, Klaus,” he says gently. “You’re safe; your bedroom is safe. Come on, let’s sit down; I’m right here, you won’t be alone.” He gently rests a hand on his shoulder, trying to coax him back down the corridor, but Klaus rapidly shakes his head.

“No,” he gasps, sudden, and turns wide eyes on Dave. “I – no, I don’t want to – not there.”

Deflating slightly, Dave offers Klaus a soft look. “Alright, that’s fine,” he says. “We can go downstairs-“

“I want Ben,” Klaus whispers, and he brings one hand up to his face to shakily run down his mouth. His face falls and he screws his eyes shut, he shakes his head, and he mutters a string of hurried sentences; “I’m sorry, I can’t make you real, I’m sorry, I can’t touch you.”

Dave lifts his hand off Klaus, trying to make sense of what he is saying and first assuming Klaus doesn’t want to be touched. It isn’t the first time he has heard Klaus asking for Ben – far from it – but like usual, it is hard to comfort him when this happens and Dave can’t give him what he wants.

It surprises him, though, when this time Klaus sniffles and looks around, staring at nothing for a moment before nodding eagerly at his own train of thought, and then he reaches out and grabs Dave’s wrist. He pulls Dave behind him as he goes down the corridor, to a door Dave has always seen to be closed, and then he pushes it open and flicks the light on inside.

Dave blinks, looking around the bedroom. It must not be one of the spare ones because it is bigger than them, and it isn’t as plain and impersonal. There are lamps around the room, and shelves full of books. There are little trinkets that look handmade, out of some kind of clay – the kind one might get their kids to play with – and there is a thin layer of dust over everything, making it obvious this room hasn’t been used in a while.

Klaus crosses the room, settles onto the bed in the corner – pressing himself right into the corner – and looks around the room with wild eyes before nodding in approval. Hesitantly, Dave steps closer to him. This must be one of his siblings bedroom, he supposes, and he must feel safer here. It evidently isn’t being used, and Dave isn’t about to make him leave.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, bringing Klaus’ attention back to him, and then he goes to perch on the bed, but Klaus reaches out a hand to stop him.

“Wait! Ben – Ben is sitting there,” he says, words rushed, and Dave stares at the empty space Klaus is staring at. “Ben is – is…” He trails off, eyes moving as if following something, and then he nods, and tugs Dave down to sit. “It’s okay, he moved, he’s there. It’s okay,” he mutters, more to himself than Dave, and all Dave can do is frown.

He would be lying if he said he understand what Klaus’ situation with this Ben was, but he does know that Klaus would often talk to this Ben, and would often insist that no one sit or stand where he was, or that a chair be left for him. If left to it himself, one could watch Klaus pull out a chair for no one, or pour two cups of water and leave one out and untouched, or open a book, put it on a table, and not read it but flip pages every so often.

Dave reaches out with a hesitant hand and rests it on Klaus’ arm. “Do you want to talk, Klaus?” He asks, tone soft, and Klaus freezes. “Do you know what happened?” Klaus nods at that, hesitant and then rapidly, as if he is able to shake off Dave’s question.

“I know,” he croaks, eyes bouncing away briefly. “I know, I – I remember some of it.” He pauses, inhaling shakily, and then he lifts a hand to run it through his hair as he utters, “it hurts.”

Dave runs his thumb over his arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “If you want, I can go get some painkillers-“

“No,” Klaus blurts, shaking his head. “I – please, don’t leave. Please.”

Dave’s shoulders slump and he nods. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” he says, and then he drops his hand off his arm. “But you’re safe now, Klaus. No one is going to get you or hurt you.”

Klaus bobs his head in an unconvinced nod, and they fall quiet. Dave tries to get a grasp on how Klaus’ mental state is to decide on how best to approach him, though Klaus refusing to go into his bedroom or to be alone is telling enough. He isn’t sure what to make of the reappearance of Ben, who Klaus hadn’t mentioned for at least a little while until now.

Klaus mutters occasionally to himself, often making conversationally noises despite Dave not speaking. His eyes constantly scan the room around them, lingering on the door, until he suddenly says; “I didn’t mean to.”

Dave startles when he realises Klaus is addressing him. “What do you mean?” He asks.

“I didn’t mean to – it keeps happening, and I know what happened, but I didn’t mean to,” Klaus insists, face screwing up slightly. “With them, in the motel, and-“

“Hey, hey,” says Dave, turning to better face him. “Nothing they did was your fault, Klaus-“

“No, no, no.” Klaus shakes his head rapidly, dismissing him. “Not that – I did-“

The door groans on its hinges and Klaus freezes. Dave startles slightly, turning to watch as Luther nudges the door open. He looks a little pale, a little uncomfortable, and asks hesitantly; “what are you doing in this room?”

Klaus stares at him for several moments before exhaling slowly. He blinks, screwing his eyes up, and looks between him and Dave, but doesn’t answer. Luther continues. “This is Ben’s room. Klaus, come on-“

“Ben, Ben, yeah,” Klaus says, a wobbly smile coming briefly onto his lips. “Ben’s right here – he’s there.” Klaus lifts a hand, pointing at the edge of the bed, just near Dave, and he feels a shiver go down his spine at the idea of someone sitting beside him that he can’t see.

“Klaus,” says Luther, voice soft, pleading. “Please, don’t.”

Dave looks between them, uncomfortable with what is left unsaid in the air between them and how Klaus seems oblivious to Luther’s slight distress. “How about we go downstairs, Klaus?” Dave offers, turning to him. “I’d like to check out your wounds, if that’s okay with you, and you must be hungry.”

“I – it’s okay,” says Klaus, looking between them with a slightly confused expression, as if he doesn’t understand why they don’t understand what is going on in his head, and then he looks confused with himself. He groans quietly, running a hand down the side of his face and looking away, blinking rapidly as if he is struggling to ground himself.

“Klaus,” Dave says, soft, leaning forwards to rest a hand on his wrist. “Come on, we’re going to go downstairs now, yeah?” He urges, and though it takes him several moments to reply, Klaus eventually just nods his head. With an encouraging smile, Dave manages to coax Klaus upright, although he shakes as he stands. He ducks his head, staring at his feet as he shuffles out of the bedroom, past Luther, with Dave right behind him.

“Come on,” Dave murmurs, this time to Luther. “You should come too. He needs you.”

Luther, staring into the now-empty bedroom with a tight expression, swallows and nods his head. “Yeah,” he mutters, closing the door with an air of finality. “I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babie. That's it.


	10. begging like a dog

Klaus knows he isn’t making much sense. He knows that; he is well aware of how he fumbles through his sentences. It’s simply hard to make them; his mind is constantly running on a loop and short-circuiting. He knows his words are coming out wrong, or maybe not coming out at all, and that it’s all scattered, and his actions don’t make much sense either. He knows that. But still – he’s trying. He’s trying so hard when every shadow looks like decaying hands reaching out to him, and when his body still burns and aches with wounds and each twinge of pain brings back the jagged flashes of the memories of being hurt. He’s trying, and it would just be nice if Dave and Luther stopped for a moment and listened to him. Plus, he’s getting disoriented, moving about the place so much whilst trying to organise his thoughts at the same time.

Ben seems to agree with him, at least.

“I know he cares, but he’s just such an ass,” Ben mutters, quietly fuming. “Who cares if you were in my room? And you were so close.”

He seems to be ranting more so to himself rather than actually talking to Klaus, but Klaus still chooses to speak up. “Close to what?” He asks, and Ben turns to look at him. He loses some tension in his shoulders as he looks at him.

“You were close to telling Dave,” says Ben. “About what happens, sort of.”

Klaus blinks, and looks over to Dave. He is standing in the kitchen with Luther, cooking up some food. Occasionally one or both of them will look over at Klaus, like they just did when he spoke. Klaus looks back to Ben.

“I don’t – I don’t know if I can,” he murmurs. He lifts a hand, idly scratching at the pain in his neck, which only succeeds in making it hurt worse, and so he just gently rubs his hand over the rings around his neck. He can’t remember how they go there, but he can remember vividly the sensation of being unable to breathe. He blinks, presses his lips together, studies carefully the corner of the room that the light doesn’t reach. The mausoleum was dark, he remembers, until he lit it up himself.

A shiver runs down his spine and he digs his nails into his skin, forcing his attention away from the corner of the room, away from the mausoleum.

“Do you want to?” Ben asks, leaning against the table next to him. Klaus ponders the question, rolls it around in his skull and between his shaking hands. He isn’t sure what he wants, really. He wants to stop feeling so scared. He wants the ghosts to go away; wants to stop manifesting them. He knows how to do that; the thought has crossed his mind a thousand times, but Luther and Grace often never left him out of their sight long enough for him to get to the infirmary by himself and pick the lock on the medicine cabinet, and if he is panicking enough to try to do that, then he is panicking too much to stay in the moment.

“Dad wouldn’t like that,” he whispers.

“Dad isn’t here,” says Ben. “No one will punish you for telling them what he did.”

Klaus bites his thumbnail. Then, quickly, he signs the word for _dead_, though he has taken to using it to reference the ghosts. Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Yes? I don’t understand.”

Klaus stares down at his fingers and swallows. Then, shakily, signs; _they’d know_.

“If you told?” Clarifies Ben, lifting his eyebrows, and Klaus nods. He eyes the corner of the room again, unconvinced it will stay empty. Ben shifts, moving into his line of sight. “They won’t be able to,” he says. “They won’t hurt you just because you told them what happened; they won’t know. You’ve seen them; they don’t think. They won’t find out.”

“They might,” utters Klaus.

“They won’t,” insists Ben, and he ducks his head. “Klaus, I promise, they won’t. I know you’re scared, but you’ve been doing so well lately. Maybe telling someone will help you.”

Klaus makes a noise in response to Ben. He runs his hands through his hair and stares at his knees. He thinks of cold stone and cold claws and screams and he thinks of blue and pink masks and an uproar of ghosts and blood, blood, blood.

A plate slides onto the table in front of him. He blinks and looks up at Dave, offering a gentle smile. On the plate is scrambled eggs, and then it is accompanied by a glass of water.

“You ought to eat,” he says, holding a fork out for him. Klaus’ eyes bounce to Ben and at his brother’s nod, he reaches out to take it. He twirls it between his fingers for a moment before turning his attention to the food in front of him, and he pushes it around his plate and lets himself think again.

It might be irrational but he’s too afraid to so much as say the word _ghost_ in case it calls them to him. He knows they are mindless things – especially the ones in the mausoleum. They wouldn’t listen to him no matter what he said; they wouldn’t care if he told anyone what they had done to him. They don’t care.

But still. He can’t help but be wary and afraid. He has gone so long without managing to actually manifest the ghosts and it is nothing but pure luck that he stopped before they could turn on him. One day, he won’t be so lucky.

But along with the memories of the mausoleum, it’s not just all ghosts. Of course, they are the main role in his fear, but he had gone into the mausoleum knowing he would be scared, knowing – or at least assuming he knew – what would happen in there. And then he had manifested the ghosts, and he had been so sure he was going to die in that cold crypt. He had screamed for Reginald in a way he hadn’t since he was a child, and he knows his father must have been able to see what was going on, and he had – he had just left him there to die. Klaus knows Reginald is willing to traumatise and hurt them, but he hadn’t truly believed he would stand by and watch as they died.

After Ben, he really should have known better.

He had hated Reginald but the truth that he would idly stand by and watch, uncaring, as his son was murdered was a hit Klaus hadn’t seen coming. None of them really trust Reginald, but he is still their father, and Klaus hates the connection that makes Klaus – and his siblings – all strive for his approval and love no matter what.

And so he is afraid that the same truth will hit his siblings, or go disbelieved, even.

Someone touches his wrist and Klaus startles; he drops the fork from his grasp, lets it clatter to the table, hitting off the plate below him, and he snatches his hand away from whoever had touched him. His eyes snap onto the person who had tore him from his thoughts, and he sees Dave, holding his hands closer to himself.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you; you’ve not touched your food, Klaus.”

He turns his attention back to his food forgotten in front of him, and he picks up the fork again. He shifts his grip on it, pushes the eggs around his plate before taking some on his fork and putting it into his mouth. He repeats the motion again and again robotically; picking it up, chewing it, swallowing it. He stares at Reginald’s chair at the end of the table; can hear the click of his shoes and his cane, can feel the heavy weight of his icy gaze burn into him, can hear his voice as he tells everyone to sit down, tells everyone to stop talking.

“Klaus.”

Again; a hand on his wrist. He freezes, tearing his gaze away from the chair at the end of the table, and to Dave. Dave smiles tightly. “You’re done,” he states, and Klaus wants to ask him what he’s finished, but then he looks down and sees an empty plate.

“Oh,” says Klaus, setting the fork on the empty plate.

“That’s great, Klaus,” he praises, picking up the empty plate and taking it over to the dishwasher. Luther has eaten too, it seems, and now he is sitting at the dining table with Klaus, watching him. Klaus stares right back at him. Luther’s cheeks turn slightly pink and he drops his gaze.

Klaus doesn’t like the silence in the room. He can hear the wind outside. He can hear the stairs groan as people come down – he is surprised to see Diego and Allison come inside. They walk hesitantly, voices falling silent when they enter, and their eyes fall onto Klaus. He doesn’t like it and so he looks away. He listens to the sound of them murmuring, the sound of them prepping breakfast for themselves, and he stares at the grain of the wood in front of him.

To break the suffocating silence and the mess of words flooding his skull, Klaus says, “it hurts.”

“What?” Allison asks, thrown, and Dave hums.

“I ought to check your injuries, if you’re okay with that,” he suggests. Klaus nods once, and then repeats his statement, urging Dave to ask, “are there painkillers he can have?”

“Yeah,” Luther murmurs, rising to his feet. “There’s some in the infirmary.”

“Are you okay with that?” Dave asks, and Klaus nods. Still, he takes a moment to rise to his feet, and then he follows Luther and Dave out of the kitchen and into the infirmary. He lets Dave touch him; lets him help him out of his shirt so that he can see the wounds, most being on his torso, and he doesn’t say a word.

He does, however, watch Luther. His brother goes to the medicine cabinet and pulls the key from the top of it. He unlocks it, staring over the array of medication there before pulling out one bottle. He pours out a dose, sets the dose next to a glass of water he broguht with him, and then he puts the bottle back into the cabinet, then locks it. He puts the key back onto the top of the cabinet.

Klaus looks away just before Luther can turn around and see him watching. He takes the pills he’s given along with the water and hopes they kick in soon, because he hadn’t been lying when he said he was in pain.

When Dave is satisfied with looking Klaus over, he pulls his shirt back on and stares at his hands as his fingers curl into his shirt. Dave is saying something to him that he should probably be listening to, but he doesn’t want to. He slides off the bed and onto his feet and states, “I want to be alone.”

As he heads to the door, he can see Luther reach out for him from the corner of his eyes, but Dave sets a hand on his arm to keep him back. Pleased, Klaus steps out, and begins to walk out. Ben slips into step by his side, silent as he follows him upstairs and, finally, into a room he can let his shoulders slump and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The garden is as safe as always. No ghosts – besides Ben, but he doesn’t mind Ben being there – and no intruders; just Klaus, and the heavy, earthy smell around him, and the soft leaves and petals. He runs his fingers over some plants, basks in the warmth around him, and the muffled sounds of the city far away. He finds the plant-mister and begins to gently spray the plants in water. He pauses in one place, however, and a small smile tugs his lips upwards.

The bonsai tree is back in its previous place. It is in much better condition than it hand been, thanks to Grace’s care, and he’s pleased to see it back, no longer a massive empty space in its place.

He sits down in his usual spot at the back, atop a pillow to be more comfortable, and then he closes his eyes.

He is oh so tired of running from the ghosts and running from Reginald. He’s so tired of the constant fear, as if his body is still stuck in the mausoleum and is still alight with terror. He wants to know who he is again; he never has felt like himself since the mausoleum. He isn’t sure he knows who he is anymore.

But he has no idea how to do this. He has no idea how to get better, and he’s too afraid to face his fear head on and go through the process of laying himself out, vulnerable, to accept what has happened to him and to move on.

He wishes the world would come to a stand-still and that time might pause, and he could remain in this garden as if the rest of the world and its horrors don’t exist. He thinks about, not for the first time, not for the hundredth time, what a life born outside of the Academy might have been like – a life born into a normal family, with no powers, no ability to see the dead, no relation to the Umbrella Academy at all.

Not for the first time, he is jealous of Vanya and how ordinary she is, and how Reginald had never put her through her own version of hell, had never struck her, had never been content to watch her be torn apart.

Had Klaus been a normal person with a normal life, perhaps he would have gone to a normal school. He has always enjoyed learning languages; has always been a natural at picking them up, too. (It helps when he grows up surrounded by people talking to him in a variety of languages from the moment he can see them, even if the most he can pick up is _help._) Perhaps he could have studied languages; he could have moved to a different country, could have become a teacher, maybe. Or maybe he could have studied art; he always loved that, too. (Even if the things he drew when he was younger were always in red crayon.) Perhaps he could have become an artist; had his pieces displayed in public. He could have been proud to be in the public’s eye, for once.

Not that any of these fantasies matter. None of them are ever going to happen, and he is Klaus Hargreeves who can see the dead and who can be torn apart by them, too.

“Klaus? Can I come in?”

Klaus blinks, then blinks a few times again, staring at Luther hovering in the doorway. Klaus debate sending him back out, but eventually he gestures for him to come in, and he does. He comes into the little garden and he sits down on the floor beside Klaus; leaves brush his shoulders and he is careful not to bend any plants or knock any over. Klaus appreciates that. For some reason, the idea of a pot breaking seems too much for him to bear, which is silly. It is just a pot.

“Are you okay, Klaus?” Luther asks after several moments. “You’ve been up here for a while.”

Klaus looks away. “If… if the Academy wasn’t a thing,” he murmurs, “what would you do with your life?”

Luther blinks, taken aback by the question. “What?”

“If you were normal,” he clarifies. “If none of this existed… I think I’d like to be an artist. I’d like to own my – my own house. In a different country.”

Luther is watching his face intently. “I’ve… I’ve never thought about it,” he admits.

“Think now,” Klaus says with a shrug. He pulls his knees up to himself; winds his arms around them.

Luther is silent for several minutes. Klaus doesn’t urge him to speak; he simply waits. Finally, he swallows and begins to speak. “I think… I think I’d like… a family of my own, I guess. My own house, my own friends, my own family. A normal job. Maybe something like gardening – I enjoy that.”

Klaus hums, nodding his head, allowing himself to imagine it. “That’d be nice,” he utters.

Luther croaks out, “yeah.” He doesn’t need to say much else.

Such a thing seems like a possibility only achievable in a dream. Luther could leave the Academy whenever he chooses; he could go out there, he could find a job. He could save up – or not, actually, with his inheritance now – and get a place of his own, and he could open up his own garden. He could meet someone, and maybe they’d fall in love, and he’d have the life he wants. But Klaus knows that if Luther leaves the Academy, he will be afraid to touch people on the streets, just in case his strength gets out of hand and he accidentally hurts someone. He would be too scared to have a child, to hold something so fragile, in case he hurts them. He would be too afraid of his own body to let anyone see it, and sometimes he might hide away in his house for days or weeks or months, feeling too horrific to show his face, or maybe even forgetting that he can leave.

Their fantasies are only that, and only ever will be that, he thinks. They can try and get close, try to achieve it to the best of their abilities, but it doesn’t change who and what they are and what they were a part of.

Klaus’ thumb runs over his umbrella tattoo. “Dad owns a graveyard,” he says. Luther blinks, surprised by the sudden statement.

“What?”

“He owns a – a mausoleum in it, too.”

“Klaus?”

“It’s old,” he says. “Very old. Whoever was – was buried, there, was buried a long time ago. It… it changes people, you know? Being – being dead. It changes people. And it makes – it makes them angry.”

Luther blinks, staring at Klaus. “Why would Dad own a graveyard, Klaus?” He asks, half way there.

“And, uh. They’re angry. They’re always angry, and. They didn’t like me, much. I didn’t like them either, but Dad, he, uh. Wanted me to – to stop being so, uh, scared, and I tried – I tried. I did, it’s just-“ He has to pause, sucking in a breath and curling his fingers into his pants. He feels like he’s trying to justify himself to Reginald – trying to justify his fear at all. “They’re so – so loud, and angry, and I just – they never stop yelling, and screaming, and I just – he said I needed to get over it. And it was training – it was just training, right? But he made me get, uh, get sober, again.”

“Training,” Luther echoes. “Your – your private training? Was in a mausoleum? Klaus?”

“And I got sober, in there, and they – they were there, of course, of course they were, and, uh.” Klaus pauses, swallowing and breathing for a few moments. He realises that he is trembling faintly. He grips his upper arms tightly, hunching his shoulders a little. “Dad, he always said I was a disappointmet – obviously, I know, but he – he always talked about potential. I didn’t know what that meant. But, uh, in there, I got sober, and the ghosts – were there, and the ghosts – I was in there for a while, I think, and they – I did it.”

He stops, inhaling shakily and screwing his eyes shut. His body twitches, memories of phantom hands reaching for him, grabbing him, trying to tear the flesh off his bones and his limbs from his body.

“Klaus?” Utters Luther, voice quiet.

“I made the ghosts real,” he blurts, spitting the words like poison from his mouth, and he gasps for air after the statement. “I made them real, and they could touch me, and they’re so angry, and they tried to just – they wanted me dead, so they tried to – they tried. And Dad left me there, and I – they kept-“

He inhales raggedly, and tugs his hands from their place curled into his clothes to cradle his head instead. Someone makes a noise, a high-pitched, painful noise.

“I made them real,” he sobs. “I made them real, I made them real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret's out, lads


	11. the way back home

Klaus’ powers have always been a little confusing for them all, considering none of them could actually see what Klaus did; they simply had to take his word for it. And considering Klaus hardly ever spoke about the ghosts, it left them all rather in the dark about it.

They know that Klaus can see the dead; he can talk to them. Luther had assumed that Klaus conjured the dead and he could do that at will – bring them forwards so he could see them and talk to them, and then make them go away again. Other than that, he hadn’t really thought about it. He knows Klaus doesn’t like talking to the ghosts, and he had assumed that conjuring them might have been stressful or physically draining, and with his lack of training it would have been more difficult and more draining, too.

That’s what he assumed.

Since Klaus came back, he’s been questioning what he used to think of Klaus a lot.

Again, Klaus never really spoke about the ghosts, so he was still fumbling around blindly in the dark to try and figure things out about it. Even so much as bringing up the topic of the ghosts was enough to send Klaus into a panic attack after the incident.

Whatever had happened to Klaus had given Luther the opportunity to see his brother in a different way. It was as if the mask he wore to hide behind had been torn off and Luther was confronted with the blunt reality of what was going on with his brother and that what he did know of him was simply a façade that Klaus had carefully constructed and that Luther had always believed. Not everything about him was a lie, of course, but he realised that a lot of what Luther knew or assumed of him had been.

He might not know exactly what his powers are like, but he had begun to suspect they weren’t what he thought they were like.

He hadn’t expected this.

Of course, they all had their own private training to suit their powers. Luther had his own, too, just like everyone else. He had extra time in the gym, equipment only he could use, and sometimes they would go out of the Academy elsewhere, when gym equipment wasn’t enough and Reginald wanted to see just how strong he was. (At fifteen years old, Luther could pull a truck down the one-hundred-foot track they were on.) Diego had it, Five had it before he left, Klaus had it – although, Klaus had it from a younger age than most of them, along with Five and Ben – and Allison had it and Ben had it. Klaus’ private training, however, differed in the fact that it took _long_. He would be away for a lot longer than anyone else during their private training. He didn’t know where he went or what he did during this time, and he never really thought about it.

He had never actually thought about him going to a graveyard. He had never considered the idea of a mausoleum being involved. He had never considered the idea that Reginald took Klaus to a mausoleum and locked him inside it for hours, going by how long they were often away. He had liked to imagine that Reginald knew how to train their powers and knew what was best for them, but how would locking him in a mausoleum help Klaus control his powers? There was no sense to it other than to force Klaus into a situation he was afraid of with no way to get out, for no reason other than to face his fears.

He remembers that Klaus had never liked the dark much, but there came a time where he vehemently despised and feared it; went from sleeping with a lamp on to chasing away any slight shadow, filling his entire bedroom with any kind of light he could get. Reginald would take the lights away and Klaus would find some way around it – he’d steal a lamp from the living room, steal lights from somewhere, steal candles from the bathroom and, sometimes, he would just set whatever he could on fire when he had nothing else.

Luther would like to imagine Reginald wouldn’t do that. Not without a reason, at least, or that he would have done it and seen how much Klaus hated it and how it didn’t help him progress at all, and he would stop or take a different approach. But Klaus had a lot of personal training, and he only seemed to get worse after each one.

Diego and Klaus had always said Reginald never cared about them. Said he saw them as nothing more than experiments and freak shows; not people, least of all children. But he had always been nice to Luther.

But whilst he was being nice to Luther, Klaus had been locked inside a crypt for hours, by himself. Whilst he was tellign Luther how irrational and weak Number Four and his fear was, Klaus was nearly dead, locked in a mausoleum, attacked by ghosts who so vehemently hated Klaus that they took the first chance they got to try and kill him.

Luther has been rethinking what he knows about Reginald a lot, recently. It is hard when he grew up seeing one side of him and he has believed the image Reginald portrayed to him. It is hard to think otherwise. But at the same time, it is hard to ignore what is right in front of him.

Klaus is nearly hyperventilating now, breathing loud and ragged, and he has taken to curling his hands into his hair and muttering, obviously no longer talking to Luther. “They – they tried to kill me, and I – I-“

He inhales sharply, gasping, and Luther pushes aside all of his thoughts and questions. He shifts onto his knees in front of Klaus and then reaches out a hand before thinking better of it. “Klaus,” he says, then again, louder. “Klaus, can you look at me, please? It’s just me and you here.” And, well, he doesn’t know that though, does he? Are there ghosts surrounding them now, promising to lunge for him as soon as his powers lash out, promising to finish what they started? Luther doesn’t know, but he blunders on anyway, until Klaus lifts his head slightly, just enough to stare at Luther with wide eyes.

“It’s just me and you,” he repeats. “Okay? And – no one’s going to hurt you here, Klaus. I promise.”

He can’t promise that. He never has been able to promise any of his siblings safety. He couldn’t protect Five, and he couldn’t protect Ben, and he never has and still can’t protect Klaus.

But he tries. He tries to help Klaus focus on calming down, trying to get his brother to copy his breathing and to calm down, but for a long time it doesn’t seem to work. Klaus can’t calm down and he wonders if he is even aware of what is going on or where he is beyond the panic consuming him. He mutters things, words tumbling rapidly from his lips when he manages to speak; pleas for something, justifications. Tears flood down his cheeks and he sobs so hard he fears he is going to make himself sick. Part of Luther is tempted to run and get Dave, who always seems to know how to help Klaus better than himself, but he decides that leaving Klaus alone like this might be the only thing he could do to worsen the situation. So he stays, continues trying to calm him down before he ends up making himself pass out – which he is sure is about to happen – but finally, finally, Klaus begins to take deeper, shuddering breaths.

Klaus clings onto what Luther says, relying on him to help steady him, but he doesn’t quite calm down in his crying yet. Luther is just happy to hear that he is breathing a little better, if nothing else.

Klaus covers his face with his hands, his whole body tremblign and heaving as he sobs. Luther does not know how to possibly help him. He has a thousand questions he wants to ask; a thousand answers and explanations he wants to demand. And once, he might have just done that. Once. But now he looks at Klaus, breaking down in front of him and confiding in him when once they would have been the last siblings to so much as talk to one another, perhaps only second to him and Diego.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Klaus,” he says. “I really am. Dad… Dad never should have done that to you.”

Klaus swallows. “I tried,” he says, hiccuping, voice strained with crying and muffled behind his hands. “I tried not to be – be scared, I tried, please-“

“I know,” says Luther. “I believe you.”

He wants to ask Klaus why the ghosts would try and kill him. He wants to ask Klaus when and why Reginald put him in a mausoleum. He wants to ask Klaus a lot of things, but the only thing he does end up asking is, “can I – can I touch you?”

Klaus takes several moments to decide, but eventually he nods, and so Luther shuffles over to his side. After a moment of hesitation, he lifts one of his arms and wraps it around his brother. Klaus stiffens beneath the touch and inhales sharply and Luther is careful to watch out to see if Klaus only begins to panic more at the touch, but then he relaxes a little and melts into his side. His head falls against his shoulder and with the touch Luther can feel just how badle his brother is shaking.

He remembers, once, when he would tell Klaus he was selfish and a coward. He used to look down on him, disappointed and disgusted by the way he had turned to drugs and alcohol instead of just – Luther isn’t entirely sure, actually. Instead of just trusting Reginald; instead of just trying harder; instead of just training. Evidently, Klaus had done all of that at some point, and again whether he wanted to or not. And this is the result.

Luther had thought Reginald could never be wrong. That he wanted the best for them – that he knew the best for them. Luther had believed everything he said; trusted him with everything. It had been nice, a lot of the time, too. When they would have lunch in the courtyard together, and Reginald would tell him how much progress he was making; what a leader he was; how he was so much better than the others. And –

That was the whole point, wasn’t it?

To be nice to Luther. To be nice to his Number One. To put the others down and highlight their flaws for him to see; to make him think his siblings were rude and rebellious and disrespectful, while only showing a kind, invested father to him. He would give Luther rewards after his training, after missions, after he tried to whip his siblings up in shape. Klaus had once said that his reward was not to be punished alone. Luther had thought he was joking. Diego had laughed. Five had laughed. Of course Reginald punished them if they acted out, but it was hardly ever severe – a skipped meal (not for Luther, though, his metabolism couldn’t risk it) or being sent to their bedroom, extra training or a lecture in Reginald’s office. What one should expect when acting out as a child.

If there had ever been more to the punishments, Luther had never received them.

And that was probably the point. It just drove a wedge between him and the others; pushed them farther apart, made Luther believe they were always just lying, trying to make their father look bad.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus cries, hands still cradling his head. “I tried, I did, but I don’t – I can’t-“

“It’s okay,” murmurs Luther, running a hand down his arm. It isn’t okay; Klaus is obviously far from okay, and Luther feels utterly helpless as he sits there and can’t help but rethink what he thought he knew about his brother and his father.

Luther knows few things. He knows that he is Number One; the leader; he is in charge and responsible for the others. Therefore it is his duty, and it always has been, to look after his siblings. He knows that Klaus has never liked his powers, even if he never explained why, but to the point that he would dive headfirst into drug addiction to avoid it. He knows that Klaus’ powers got out of control and almost killed him. He knows that though it didn’t kill him, it all but shattered him mentally. He knows that Reginald did not care. He knows that he failed to protect Klaus when they were younger, failed to see his struggles growing up, failed to see the other side to Reginald that his siblings saw, and that he failed to protect Klaus even now. Luther knows that things were not what they seemed like to him growing up and that he has a lot of work to do for both himself and his siblings, even if he doesn’t always like or agree with it or them.

But Luther also knows that he has to try.

So he tries his best to comfort Klaus while he cries. He tries to console him; tries to reasure him. He tells him not to be sorry for being scared; not to be sorry for not being better; not to be sorry for being hurt. He tells him that things will be okay, though he can’t tell him when.

Eventually, Klaus’ crying begins to calm, growing less hysterical and more exhausted. He slumps bonelessly against Luther, his body trembling still, and he doesn’t really react when Luther nudges him slightly and murmurs his name. When Luther ducks to catch his gaze, his eyes don’t really focus on him and he twitches.

“Klaus?” He asks, gentle. His brother has one hand twisted loosely into his sleeve, his shoulders hunched, and his lips part for a moment as if he is going to speak, but no more words come out. Luther moves to take his hands gently in his, and then rises to his feet, coaxing Klaus up as he does. Without a word, his brother follows him from the garden, a haunted look etched into his eyes that jump around the place without ever truly looking at something. He doesn’t say a thing as they walk through the Academy, and as Luther brings him downstairs. He doesn’t untwist his fingers from his sleeve either, though his grip is loose enough Luther could probably simply step away and tug himself free, but instead he doesn’t. He pauses in his steps, turning to stare at his brother.

With the light drifting in through a nearby window, somehow it seems to accentuate how tired and frail he looks; it catches on the silver scars criss-crossing his skin. Some are small and short, others long and thick; some alone, some in clusters. There are thin long ones around his eyes, and around his lips, as if an animal had tried to claw out his eyes and force his mouth open. There are three long, thick ones dragging from the bridge of his nose down to his right cheek; there are ones dragging back into his hair from his forehead, as if someone had scratched there whilst trying to tear out his hair. His neck is pattern of them, and there are deep ones on his wrists and his forearms; arguably they are the deepest there, matching the ones on his shoulders and his ankles, places where he might be held down forcibly.

They had been caused by ghosts, Luther thinks.

Whatever he had thought about Klaus’ powers, the truth is evidently far from it. He feels guilty, now, horrible even, for mocking Klaus and calling him weak or a coward. It seems he had a reason to be afraid.

Luther had never wanted his siblings to drift as they had. He probably made a poor attempt at showing that while they were all still together, might have only really realised that once it was too late and they had begun to drift out of the Academy one by one, but he had never truly wanted his family to break apart. He had never truly wanted to hurt any of them, never truly hated his siblings. It hurts to see them so disjointed and resentful and distrusting of one another; hurts to think he had a part in doing that to his family. He thinks there are things he might never be able to take back; old wounds he had hammered into his siblings over years. But, he thinks, he can try. They are all back together, including Five, and he knows, now, what happened to Klaus, and this moment in time might be the only moment he gets to try and make a difference, try to better himself in his siblings lives before they go away again.

And right now, he can start with Klaus.

Standing in the corridor, his eyes fall onto Klaus’ bedroom door. After Klaus had gone up to his garden Dave had told him about why they had gone to Ben’s bedroom instead, and so Luther hesitates to bring his brother into his bedroom if he is associating it with even more trauma, especially after just having a breakdown.

With a knot in his chest, Luther turns and guides Klaus into Ben’s bedroom. He wavers on the threshold, feeling wrong, wrong, wrong for entering this untouched room, but Klaus came in here for a reason, and obviously he felt comfortable and safe in here. So, Luther steps forwards, guides Klaus to sit down on his bed like he had that morning and, after several moments of hesitation, he sits down next to him.

Luther had been there when Ben died. It had only been him and Ben on a mission; they had been the last two Academy members. Vanya left three years earlier, Diego two, Allison one, and Klaus – well, Klaus had never really been in the Academy since he turned sixteen. He went out some days or some nights, and sometimes he didn’t come back until the next day, or multiple days later. He usually came back at some point, however, never spending more than a week away, often coming back to sleep at night, steal Reginald’s trophies or be there for Grace’s meals. When Ben died, he hadn’t been to the Academy in over two months.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, but they underestimated the power of their opponents and they got split up. Ben had been yelling for help, getting increasingly more desperate, and Luther had just turned the corner as soon as Ben started screaming.

Luther could only watch as the Horror devoured everything in its path, nearly including himself, and trying to include Ben. He had watched his brother as he was torn apart and neither of them could stop the Horror on its rampage. He had carried the crumbling remains of his brother, hardly recognisable even if he hadn’t been drenched in blood, out to safety and eventually back to the Academy. He had seen Ben’s corpse, heard his screams, watched his last moments, and he hadn’t helped or protected him.

Klaus bringing up Ben had always been a sore spot for him. He had honestly thought it was yet another one of his jabs at him – first daddy’s little soldier, now Ben’s murderer. Or perhaps it was just a taunt at how weak Luther was when he had lived a life being taught to be disgusted at weakness. But whenever Klaus brought up Ben, all Luther could think of was blood and screaming and how light his corpse had been because half of it had been shredded into nothingness; smeared across the walls as red paint. The idea that Ben was there as a ghost – it was horrifying, and Luther couldn’t face the guilt. Ben must hate him. He would never be able to face his brother again. And if Ben didn’t hate him; well, Luther didn’t deserve his forgiveness, either.

Walking into his bedroom or accepting that he was still there even after what Luther saw and allowed to happen felt like he might as well just spit on his grave.

But for now, Klaus evidently found comfort in Ben’s bedroom, and he either found comfort in using Ben as a coping mechanism or Klaus truly saw their brother, and of course Ben would be by his side.

(Although Luther couldn’t help but wonder that if the ghosts had done this to Klaus, would it be a good thing if Ben was there?)

“I tried,” Klaus utters, hardly more than a whisper, but Luther latches onto it and turns to look at him. Klaus is still staring at nothing in particular, lost in his own thoughts.

“Klaus?” He urges, voice gentle.

“I tried to get over it. I did,” Klaus continues to mumble. “I tried. I wanted to be better. I just – I just want it to stop.”

Luther stares at Klaus, watching his eyelids flutter and droop with exhaustion, and when he slumps into his side he holds Klaus up.

He wonders what Ben might think of him in this moment.


	12. your best might not be good enough (but just know you're not alone)

A floorboard outside creaks and Luther looks up. Hovering in the doorwy is Dave, offering a soft smile and raising his eyebrows curiously. He nods at Klaus, still slumped asleep against his side, and ever so carefully Luther begins to move. He puts one arm around Klaus’ shoulder and supports his head with his other hand, gently lowering Klaus backwards onto the bed, and then he stands and lifts his legs up onto the bed too. Klaus, ever a deep sleeper, doesn’t react or wake up as he moves him, thankfully. He lingers by his side for a moment, watching his face relax in sleep, before finally turning to and approaching Dave.

“Everything alright?” He asks. Luther toys with his lower lip, eyes straying back to the slumbering form of his brother.

“We, uh, spoke, a bit,” he says. “He told me what happened.”

“Oh,” says Dave, eyes widening a fraction before he continues, “oh. That’s good, Luther, that’s really good.” He reaches forwards to rest a hand on Luther’s arm, eyes bouncing between him and Klaus. “For the both of you, that’s great. Did you ask him, or?”

Shaking his head, he says, “no, no. He told me by himself. He just… told me.”

Dave exhales softly, looking impressed and smiling up at Luther. He nudges his arm slightly. “Seriously, Luther, that’s a good thing. That’s a good sign, it’s great progress on his part. He opened up on his own and now he can work away from it. It would’ve been dragging him down all that time, to keep it with him, and it’s a great thing that he managed to tell you by himself.”

Luther bobs his head in agreement, staring back at Klaus. He remains silent for several moments until Dave steps into his line of sight and raises his eyebrows. “How are you holding up?” He asks, and Luther is a little taken aback by the question. He shrugs helplessly.

“I just – I want to help him,” he states, and Dave squeezes his arm.

“I know you do. And I know you’re trying to,” he says. “You’re too hard on yourself. You’ve been doing the best you can with what you have. It’s not easy, but hell, you’re doing a lot better than some other people I’ve seen. You should be proud of yourself. It’s not just him that has had something significant happen to him.” He nudges Luther lightly, giving him a pointed look.

It is not in Luther to think of himself as a person that needs help, rather the one that always gives said help, and it is not in Luther to expect anything less than that. He is the leader; he is responsible; he is strong. He leads; he protects; he helps. He is not the one that needs help; he is not the victim; he does not have it hard. Even if Klaus has said things about Reginald to him, tried to urge him to see otherwise. So all he can do in response to Dave’s statement is sigh and nod, begrudgingly accepting his words but also dismissing them.

“Before he told me,” Luther begins to say after a pregnant pause between the two of them, “he asked me what I’d – what I’d do, if the Academy wasn’t a thing. If I was normal.”

Dave hums. “What would you do?”

Luther swallows. “I have no idea.”

Dave tips his head to the side, a thoughtful expression crossing his features, and he leans back against the doorframe. “Unfortunately, the Academy _is_ a thing,” he states. “And that can’t change. But you _can_ choose what you do from now on. Every day you get to make the choice of what you make of it. Today, Klaus chose to open up to you. He chose to make that step. Maybe,” he says, pausing for long enough to bring Luther’s gaze back to him, “now it’s time for you to move forwards too. Think about what you want to do for yourself.”

Luther blinks and looks away, and Dave pushes himself off the doorway to rest his hand on Luther’s arm once more. “Hell, you know I’m always going to be here for Klaus as long as he wants and needs my help, but I’m here for you too, Luther.”

“I know,” Luther murmurs, voice surprisingly quiet. “Thank you, Dave. For everything.”

Dave smiles at him, pats his arm and then takes a step back. “Don’t mention it. I’ve got to run and catch up with work now, but you need anything, or if Klaus needs anything, you’ve got my number.” Dave pauses, purses his lips. His eyes jump to Klaus and back again and he leans in, face turning more serious, eyebrows lifting. “Trust me when I say you’re doing good here, Luther. You are.”

Luther isn’t entirely sure he can agree with that, but nonetheless he nods, and repeats his thanks. Dave retrieves the stuff he came here with and offers one last smile at Luther before he leaves, and then Luther turns his attention back to Klaus, still curled up on Ben’s bed.

Idly, he wonders if Pogo knew what was happening to him. The thought strikes him suddenly and he has the urge to seek him out, to ask him why he would allow that to happen to him, but he stamps the urge out. Just in time for someone else to come into the corridor.

Allison steps out of her bedroom and offers a smile as she approaches, though her eyebrows furrow in confusion at seeing him in Ben’s doorway. Her expression turns a little tense and from the doorway beside Luther, she eyes Klaus on Ben’s bed.

“Are you okay with him in there?” She asks, voice hushed, and Luther thinks about blood and screaming and the terror etched into Ben’s expression before he died.

“He’s more comfortable in here,” he simply says, throat feeling tight. “And you know – Ben would let him.”

Allison smiles a little sadly at that. “Of course he would,” she murmurs, nodding. “How is he? How are you?”

“I think…” Luther pauses, and his tongue dashes out across his dry lips. He exhales slowly and asks, “is Diego around?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s downstairs,” says Allison. “Why?”

“I think we should talk,” he utters. Allison’s face turns curious and she nods.

“Family meeting style?” She asks, and Luther nods. He doesn’t particularly want to leave Klaus alone, afraid he might be hurt if he wakes up alone after confiding such a thing in Luther, but Klaus is a heavy sleeper – always has been – and he hopes that talking to Allison and Diego wouldn’t take much longer than twenty minutes, perhaps.

They find Diego downstairs like expected, just exiting the kitchen, and they all go into the living room. Allison sits down on the couch and Diego hovers by the fireplace, looking a little wary of what Luther is about to say. He idly runs his fingers over the hilt of one of his knives, staring intently at him as he sits down and delays the talk.

He… isn’t entirely sure he should be the one telling them this, honestly. He isn’t sure Klaus will like this or if he will be mad at Luther, but he isn’t meaning to do this maliciously. He thinks it is important that the others know what happened to him, and they both obviously care about Klaus, and Luther is trying to be better for all of them. And plus, he doesn’t think it will do Klaus much good to have both Allison and Diego pester him and ask him what’s wrong with him and remind him of the incident.

“What is it, Luther?” Diego asks. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Luther gives him an exasperated look and sighs. He can’t delay the conversation forever.

“When we were younger,” he says, “we all had our private training sessions.”

Diego quirks an eyebrow curiously and glances to Allison as if hoping she might know what he’s talking about, but she shrugs just as cluelessly.

“And, uh, Klaus’ required him to go somewhere else. And sometimes he’d be away for hours, or days.”

“What about it?” Diego asks, urging him to get to the point, and Luther sighs. “Klaus told me – Dad used to, uh, take him to a graveyard. And he used to – Klaus said he would, uh… lock him in a mausoleum.” The words tumble from his lips in a rush and he looks away.

“What the fuck,” mutters Diego, just as Allison leans forwards to say, “what?”

He nods his head, swallowing. “That was his private training,” he confirms.

“Klaus was away for _hours_,” Allison says, looking disturbed. “Sometimes he’d be gone overnight. Dad would go away and come back without him.”

Luther nods his head again, humming. “He left him there,” he confirms.

Diego shakes his head and has taken to pacing a little. “That’s fucked,” he mutters, eyes cold. “Of course the bastard would do that. Christ, what the fuck.”

“And,” says Luther, lifting his voice a little to get their attention back on him. “Klaus, uh. You know – something happened to him, but he never told me what. But he told me today. Dad took him back to the mausoleum when he broke in, and Klaus was sober. While he was in the mausoleum, he, uh. He manifested the ghosts – made them corporeal and physical. They tried to kill him, and Dad – he left him in there.”

Diego and Allison blink at him, expressions shocked and confused, then they look between one another.

_“What?”_

They burst out into questions, bombarding him with them, and Luther scrubs a hand down his face and sighs heavily, shifting on the seat uncomfortably. “I don’t know how, but Dad always said he had potential – that there was more to his powers than he thought, if he just put his mind to it.”

“Did you know?” Diego asks, eyes narrowing, and Luther’s face contorts in disgust.

“What? Of course not. I had no idea what happened to him until he told me an hour ago; I would have said something if I had known,” he defends, anger rising up in him as he stands up. “I wouldn’t have let Dad do that to him if I had known.”

“You wouldn’t have?” Diego retorts, venom in his voice. Luther knows that Diego doesn’t mean that. Not really. Diego is short tempered and always on the wrong footing with him and prefers to channel his emotions all into anger, and of course he is angry right now; angry at Reginald. But Reginald isn’t here and the closest thing he has to him is Luther, and he doesn’t know that Luther has been by Klaus’ side for a while now; doesn’t know that Klaus and him have a garden, though it’s mainly Klaus’ but they started it together, or that Luther is delving into the other side of Reginald that they saw; that Luther took Klaus home when he found out Reginald sent him off somewhere else; that Luther is trying to be better. Luther doesn’t blame him, but the idea that he would now willingly and _knowingly_ let such harm come to Klaus; it makes him feel horrible.

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, there comes a sound from behind him. He turns, startled slightly to see Klaus himself in the doorway, looking between them all. He looks tired, Luther thinks; eyes hooded and still a little red, face gaunt, skin pale. With his appearanceboth he and Diego stand down, snapping their mouths closed with a resounding crack.

“What’s going on here?” Klaus asks, voice little more than a murmur as he shuffles in, looking to Luther.

“Klaus, did-“

“_Diego_,” Luther snaps, cutting him off and turning back to meet his rekindled glare.

“What? You want to just bring it up and drop it?” He retorts, scoffing. “He’s my brother and I care about him too, I need to know-“

“And I’ve told you,” Luther says. “If you’ve been paying attention to him the past few days then you’ll know yelling it at him isn’t going to help.”

Diego pauses, pressing his lips together and faltering in his confidence. His hand, previously in the air and pointing vaguely between Luther and Klaus, falls back down to his side and he reigns his anger in just a little to consider that perhaps demanding Klaus tell him about the mausoleum might, in fact, not be the best course of action.

“Luther?” Klaus asks again, sliding towards him, and Luther rests a hand on his shoulder when he doesn’t step away.

“We were talking,” Luther murmurs. “About Dad.”

Klaus pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “Oh…” he murmurs, frowning. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” says Luther, letting his hand fall, and Klaus drifts towards the couch and sits down on it. “He’s just… not the man I thought he was.”

“Took you long enough,” Diego mutters, dragging his hands down his face. He can’t quite bring himself to look Klaus in the eye. Klaus frowns at him, eyes narrowed.

“He’s trying,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around himself. Diego falters, taken aback at Klaus’ defence of Luther, and then he opens his mouth and pauses. He looks between them for a moment and presses his lips together. He ends up not saying anything at all and sighs instead, falling back to sit on an armchair.

“Has anyone seen Five?” Luther asks, breaking the silence and trying to shift the topic away from Klaus. Allison and Diego both shrug.

“Haven’t seen him since he took that briefcase,” Diego states. “Who knows where he is now.”

“Klaus,” says Allison, finding her voice again after sinking back into her thoughts. Klaus lifts his head to look at her curiously and she pauses, staring at him. Then she says, “I’m sorry.”

Klaus blinks, confusion crossing his features. “Uh… you didn’t… do anything?” He says, though it sounds more like a question. His gaze strays to Luther, silently seeking out an explanation from him, but all he does is shake his head.

“Not now, maybe,” she says. “But when we were younger. There were things I said that I… just shouldn’t have. I didn’t bother trying to understand you, and I’m sorry for that.”

Klaus looks utterly shocked, as if she had just gone and punched him instead. His eyes bounce to a spot near the fireplace _(Ben?) _and his lips move over silent words.

“Uh, that, uh. Thanks? That’s, uh, not your fault, though.” Klaus fumbles his way through the sentence, squirming on the couch as if physically uncomfortable. Diego waves a hand.

“No, no, she’s right,” he says, and the anger he had had previously seems to have melted out into defeat, or maybe even guilt; his shoulders slump and his face softens. “There was so much shit going on-“

“There was nothing going on,” says Klaus, too quickly, and there is a slightly panicked look to his eyes as he tenses, prepared to get up if the covnersation continues to go in a way he doesn’t like. Diego frowns.

“Bro, it’s-“

“What’s going on?”

Everyone startles at the new voice, too focused on Klaus and the revelation of what had happened to him to even notice Vanya’s approach. Luther turns and upon seeing the stranger with her, he can’t help but stand a little taller; take a step closer to his siblings.

“It’s personal,” says Allison, quick on her feet, and Vanya raises her eyebrows.

“Personal?” She echoes. “Personal for everyone but me.”

“Five’s not here,” mutters Diego, going unheard.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” says Allison, waving a hand.

Luther considers, for a moment, whether or not he should have made an attempt at reaching out to Vanya for this little meeting before he started it; that she should have been included in this, should have been told what happened. But his thoughts stray again to her book, and to what she said about Klaus, about his powers. She wouldn’t understand, he thinks. Would she even care?

Luther might have received the better end of the deal with Reginald and their training. He might not have had it as bad as Five, who would have splitting migraines and cry in pain when he first started learning his spatial jumps and the stress it put on his body. He might not have had it as bad as Ben, who looked uncomfortable and afraid every minute of every day, and went nights without sleep, afraid to let loose his grip on the Horror only to be killed by it in the end, and he might not have had it as hard as Klaus, locked alone in a mausoleum for hours on end only to end up nearly dead from his powers anyway. But he had the horrible ache of starvation for years before they realised his metabolism burned through food; he had the guilt of accidentally hurting others and the fear of not knowing his own strength; the exhaustion and pain with physically exherting himself to the brink of passing out. He knew the downsides powers could come with; Vanya only ever saw the idea of being special – of being extraordinary.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she says, shaking her head and turning around to leave, the man following her close behind. Allison stands up quickly and begins to walk towards her.

“Vanya, please – we can talk later-“

“Please, please, don’t bother,” Vanya says, turning on her heels to give her an exhausted look. “And I won’t either.”

“Vanya, that’s not fair,” Allison says, and she scoffs.

“Fair? There’s nothing fair about being your sister,” Vanya declares. “I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad’s fault.” She turns away, looking over Allison’s shoulder to give them all a cold stare, mustering up the same venom she wrote her book with. “But Dad’s dead. So it turns out you’re the assholes.”

With that, she turns around and storms out, and the man follows silently, leaving them all in the wake of her words.

Maybe it is for the best Luther didn’t tell her, Luther thinks. Allison sinks back into the room to sit down, looking conflicted. “Should I go explain?” She says, looking to the others for their input.

“I don’t know what you were actually talking about,” states Klaus quietly, staring at his fingernails.

“She wouldn’t understand,” Luther says.

“He’s got a point,” agrees Diego. “If you – talk about Dad and powers with her now, she’ll just get even more pissy. Let her go have a tantrum.”

“Diego,” sighs Allison, exasperated, and he shrugs.

“Let her cool off,” says Luther instead, sitting down on the couch next to Klaus. “Diego’s right. She won’t like hearing about Dad and our powers after this. Give her a while.”

Sighing and leaning back, Allison resigns herself to nodding, though can’t quite tear her gaze away from the doorway. At least, not until the faint sound of electricty gets all of their attention, and Luther turns around just in time to see the same sight he had the night of the funeral, complete with Five crashing out of thin air.

“Shit,” he says, and they all stand up, rushing over to where he is, covered in dust and tumbling off the bar.

“Five? What the hell happened to you?”

Five looks around with narrowed eyes, then stretches over the bar, grabbing a bottle of liquor and taking a long swig of it. Luther grimaces at the sight.

“Irrelevent,” he says, sitting the liquor down with a thump and staggering away.

“Are you okay?” Allison asks, and he waves a hand.

“The apocalypse is in three days,” he states. “And I need all of you to get your heads out of your asses. I have the name of the guy who ends the world, and we need to find him now.”

Everyone stares at him, silence stretching on before, just like with Klaus, they all burst out into questions. It takes Five a few minutes to calm everyone down before he can explain.

“When I time travelled and got stuck in the future, I saw the end of the world. I was the only person left alive. I found… a clue to who caused the apocalypse, and I knew when. Now I know who, but I need everyone to work together.”

It does not clear things up. Seeing their still clueless expressions Five sighs and takes another swig of liquor before delving into a dizzying story about an apocalypse which eventually is summed up by; the world ends in three days, they all died trying to fight whoever caused it, Five found a prosthetic eye belonging to the person who caused it, a time travelling assassin agency wants the world to end and is protecting the person who causes the apocalypse, and Five, who used to work at said time travelling assassin agency, intercepted a message and found out who causes it.

Ultimately, however, it ends with some sudden motivation throughout the room to find one Harold Jenkins, although Luther is slightly conflicted.

What he knows about his father has been severely shaken over the past few days, let alone past few years, but he does know how odd he had been acting; weird things he had said to Luther. And Reginald might not care about them, but Reginald did care about them being superheroes.

“You guys go,” he says. “I’m going to look through his office for anything.”

“I’ll come with you,” Klaus says quickly, rising to his feet.

Five frowns at the two of them, eyes narrowed, and then he simply shrugs and nods to Allison and Diego. They go to follow him out, but Diego touches his arm and jerks his head, pulling him aside.

“I’ll meet you up in his office,” murmurs Klaus, seeing that Diego obviously wants to speak to Luther in private, and he begins to shuffle off in the directions of Reginald’s office. Once they are alone, Diego staring after him, he says;

“I was talking to Eudora – the detective at the motel we found Klaus at.”

“Yeah?” Luther says, confused. Five is standing by the door, looking impatient.

“She said there were no signs of anyone else ever being there,” Diego states, and when Luther doesn’t immediately catch on he continues. “The only fingerprints that were there was theirs. Klaus was stuck in the chair we found him in the whole time. The bullets were only from their guns; bullet holes only from their guns. There were no other attackers there that killed Hazel and Cha-Cha.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Luther gives him a look. “Okay?”

Sighing, Diego nods at the staircase Klaus went up. “You said that Klaus… he manifested ghosts, Luther, and they tried to kill him. I don’t think a ghost would leave fingerprints.”

Luther’s blood runs cold and his memory brings up the images of that motel room; of the chaos and the carnage, the blood, the mess of Hazel and Cha-Cha’s bodies that looked almost as if animals had gotten to them.

Seeing the realisation on his face, Diego nods his head. “I’m not saying that’s what happened, but…”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Diego, hurry up or we’re leaving you here,” Five snaps by the door, tapping his wrist, and Diego purses his lips and begins to step backwards, holding Luther’s gaze for several moments before finally turning around and following Five and Allison outside.

All Luther can manage to do with that thought stuck in his mind is simply echo out, “_shit_.”

###

Klaus is already looking through things when he gets to the office. Luther swallows at the sight of him, kneeling by his bookshelf and looking through things.

He imagines blood, and screaming, but this time it isn’t Ben’s, and this time it is in a cold, dark room with cobwebs and coffins.

“What are we looking for?” Klaus asks him, oblivious to what is going on in his head, and Luther clears his throat.

“Anything suspicious, I guess,” he murmurs. “Stuff about the moon – maybe he has the research I sent him. Try and look for that.”

Klaus nods his head and gets to work easily, and they fall into comfortable silence. Every now and then Luther will steal glances at his brother.

How old was he when he first started personal training?

He thinks they might have been eight, give or take a year or so.

He thinks he was nine when he started drinking.

Five was thirteen when he ran away.

Ben was nineteen when he died.

Reginald’s funeral could have ended up with only him, Diego and Allison attending it.

Luther feels sick.

And when Klaus uncovers all of Luther’s moon data and packages, he very nearly is.

All tucked away, out of sight, in the floorboards.

Everything unopened.

Untouched.

Every letter unread.

Data discarded.

Diego told him that Reginald sent him to the moon for no reason other than _because that is the kind of cruel shit Reginald does._

Diego is right.

“Luther?”

“He – he never opened a thing.”

He sets one of his letters down, joining the forgotten pile in the hollow area beneath the floorboards.

Not even one thing was opened, he realises, staring at it all. Not a single thing.

Luther remembers when his food was running out.

Luther remembers when writing letters to Reginald became less about trying to speak to Reginald and more about trying to convince himself he was speaking to anyone.

Luther remembers how it changed from breathtaking to paranoia and anxiety inducing to depressing and scary and lonely, being on the moon all by himself. The sight of space was gorgeous, of course, but the utter isolation tore him apart.

Luther remembers crying the first night he got back on Earth. He can’t tell if it was from the joy of being back or how scared he was of everything; how unfamiliar everything was to him; or the blunt realisation of everything he missed. The colours, the sounds, the life.

And Reginald put him up there for years, for no reason. No reason at all.

Just like he pushed Five hard enough to throw up and pass out, knowing he didn’t need to do it, knowing it didn’t give him extra results or information.

Just like he kept sending Ben out on mission after mission, knowing the Horrors were getting stronger with each kill; with each year Ben aged.

Just like he locked Klaus in a mausoleum for no reason at all.

“Luther, hey, hey-“

Klaus is kneeling by his side, shaking him gently out of his thoughts, and Luther hates the way his eyes burn with tears.

He should have known – should have seen the truth to Reginald years ago. He shouldn’t be so surprised. But a part of him clings desperately onto the affection his father showed him as a child, believing there might still be good to him, though it shatters completely now.

He doesn’t want to be in this room anymore. He rises to his feet, shaking Klaus off and heading to the door, but Klaus, with more speed than he’s seen from him in years, scrambles to his feet and scurries to the door, and slots himself in the doorway.

Luther could move him without batting an eye. Both he and Klaus knows this. But Klaus stares up at him, with eyes surrounded by thin scratchmark scars, and his cheeks are sunken and skin pale and eyes still a little haunted, and Reginald did that to him, too.

For a moment, they stare at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. To say something; for Luther to shove Klaus out of the way; for Klaus to give in and step back.

Luther remembers a time he thought Klaus was a coward.

The fire burning suddenly in his brother’s eyes has not been there in a long time. He steps forwards, then, and he wraps his arms around Luther in a hug that shocks him more than it should. Luther, teetering between multiple emotional outbreaks, finds himself drained off anger and any violence inside of him. He slumps, lifting one hand to set it on Klaus’ back, and he can’t help it when he blinks and tears fall from his eyes.

Klaus urges him back onto the floor so that they are sitting down together, and comforts him like Luther usually comforts Klaus. He feels so frail, Luther thinks, and perhaps that is what shocks him the most about this. Klaus, who is small and frail and fragile compared to him, who has been the one needing support and assistance, who has been struggling to retrieve the shattered parts of himself, is suddenly ablaze with life and unafraid next to Luther. Unafraid _of_ Luther.

Luther manages to get a hold of himself eventually, pulling away and furiously wiping away his tears, and Klaus lets him though remains sitting against him. “I’m sorry, I-“

Klaus shakes his head, dismissing his words. “For what?” He asks, and Luther pauses.

“I shouldn’t be – crying over some letters,” he says, tone thick with self-depreciation. “I should be better-“

“Luther, he hurt you too.”

Luther freezes at the words that leave Klaus’ lips accompanied by the intensity of his gaze burning into him.

“You don’t need to keep being better because the bastard expected you to be perfect and then some. You’re already good. It’s just nothing was ever good enough for him, but he convinced you that something was and that you had to find it.”

Luther can’t find any words as Klaus speaks. Klaus wraps his arms around his knees, tilting his head to the side. “He hurt all of us,” he murmurs. “Just because he didn’t _hit_ you doesn’t mean he didn’t _hurt_ you. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing to all of us. You aren’t an exception just because he called you a leader.”

Klaus blinks and turns away, looking at the portrait of him hung up behind his desk, and a lazy smirk adorns his lips. “You know, I hated you once.”

“W – what?” Luther stammers, still struggling through his turmoil, and Klaus shrugs.

“I thought you were a dick. And you _were_, but so was I. I thought you had it easy. I thought you were like him. But you didn’t want to hurt any of us – you didn’t try to. You did what you had to; I did what I had to. Look at us now.” He nudges him slightly and his eyes crinkle with perhaps the first smile Luther has seen in years; perhaps the first genuine smile he has seen in over a decade.

Luther can’t help but mirror it. No, he certainly would not expect for him and _Klaus_, of all siblings, to be close like this. To be able to hug one another; for Klaus to be the one to help him through his mess with Reginald. He doesn’t want to say abuse.

He laughs a little, unbidden, and Klaus grins at him, and everything from the moon remains unopened and Luther feels like his childhood has been shredded and set on fire, but Klaus is sitting beside him, just as, if not more, broken than him, and they are _laughing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me whenever I update this fic: anyway y'all ready to talk about how Valid and Good Luther is and that his abuse is just as real as all of the other siblings and he isn't actually bad?


	13. unravel all the chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no Luther/Allison implied; they’re just siblings here. No incest rights for them

Eventually, they have to move off the floor, and so they get up and leave Reginald’s office and head down to the kitchen. Klaus slumps into his seat at the table and Luther decides to busy himself with making them some drinks – a coffee for himself and a hot chocolate for Klaus. His brother seems lost in thought, drumming his fingers along the table and tipping his head to one side, occasionally humming conversationally at nothing.

His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and none of them are particularly pleasant. He has… a lot to sit and think about, but he isn’t sure if he wants to face them quite yet, so instead he turns his thoughts to something else – to what Diego had said to him before he left.

Klaus had spoken as if he had been somewhat responsible for the deaths of Hazel and Cha-Cha, after all. Luther had assumed that he had thought it was his own fault for getting hurt, honestly. The thought that Klaus might put the blame on himself for them getting hurt hadn’t even crossed his mind.

But it makes a little bit of sense, doesn’t it? No sign of anyone else being there, all the violence on Hazel and Cha-Cha was done by hands rather than weapons. If he had gotten a closer look at the bodies, he could probably compare the wounds to the scars on Klaus. It is disturbing to have a frame of reference like that; disturving to be able to place Klaus in the centre of the carnage that was the motel room they found him in, place him in the same state as Hazel and Cha-Cha, and imagine that that was what happened to him in the mausoleum. It makes him feel a little sick, but then again the nausea hasn’t left him once since the admission of what happened to him left Klaus’ lips.

Klaus accepts his hot chocolate gratefully, blowing across the surface of the steaming drink. His fingers wrap around the mug and he holds it close to him. Luther settles down into his usual seat, staring into his mug of coffee with pursed lips.

“Did Dave leave?” Asks Klaus after a beat of silence, and Luther bobs his head. Klaus frowns at his answer, shifting on the seat. “Do you think he’ll come back soon?”

“He always comes around to check in on you,” he states. “And he’s always happy to help if you need it. Why?”

Klaus shrugs and sips tentatively at his drink, eyes bouncing aside – to Ben’s chair, and Luther notices that he must have pulled it out a little when he came into the kitchen. “He’s nice,” he simply says.

“He is,” agrees Luther.

“I like the incense he brought.”

“Oh?”

Klaus hums, nodding absently. “Yeah. Smells nice. It’s a nice vibe.”

“A nice vibe?”

“Mhmm. A nice vibe. All… incense-y.”

Luther quirks an eyebrow, watching how Klaus’ lips twitch slightly upwards in apparent amusement to himself, and then his eyes bounce up to glance at the ceiling. “Could put it in the garden, too.”

“If you want to,” says Luther, finally taking a sip from his coffee. “It could be nice. I was thinking we could move a chair up there, too, instead of just the pillows you’ve got up there. Be more comfortable.”

Klaus perks up at the idea, lifting his head to stare curiously at him. “That’d be nice. Oh, it should be a swinging one. One of those would look nice there.”

Luther ponders the idea. It’d be hard to do it with how the garden is situated, but it wouldn’t be impossible and they could always just build a frame for it to hang off of. And he knows Klaus would just love a swinging chair. “Sure,” he says, and he makes a point of getting around to that. Perhaps he ought to ask Grace or Pogo to look into it first – it isn’t as if Luther goes out to do any shopping himself. He wouldn’t know where to even start looking. Klaus might, if he could remember the city, but Klaus doesn’t like going outside much nowadays. Luther suspects that if he were to start doing so, they would have to do it slowly, rather than just delving deep into the city for a full day.

Klaus hums contently, running his fingers over the rim of his mug and again they are silent for several moments before he speaks up again. “Are you, you know. Actually okay? With the moon stuff?” He asks, pressing his lips together and peering over at him. With his mug half-raised to his lips, Luther freezes. He sighs, breath tumbling from his lips and his eyes drifting off to stare absently at the table.

No, he isn’t. If he thinks too much about it then he’s sure he can smell the smoke of his childhood ablaze, and if he looks too closely then he’s sure he’ll see a hundred more things that he cannot deal with at this moment in time, and he can hardly deal with what he _has_ confronted.

But he is sure he could be dealing with it a lot worse.

Klaus’ toe nudges his knee under the table, drawing his attention back to him. Klaus quirks an eyebrow and says, “and don’t just say you are if you’re not.”

Luther’s shoulders slump in defeat and he sinks back into his chair. “No,” he admits. “I’m not. But… I’ll be fine. It was just letters anyway.”

“That meant a lot to you,” points out Klaus, and had he not been pointing out all of his soft spots and forcing him to acknowledge them himself, Luther might have been proud of Klaus for how outspoken he was being – had been all day.

(He still is, of course, even if he’s using his newfound confidence to force Luther to acknowledge things he doesn’t have the emotional energy to confront yet and would much rather just ignore and push aside.)

“I just… need time to process it all,” he murmurs, and Klaus backs off a little, nodding his head. He returns his attention to his hot chocolate, one leg bouncing beneath the table and making his whole body shake minutely. Every so often he looks elsewhere or hums nearly inaudabibly, and Luther can’t help but still wonder about Ben.

Everyone had wondered if Klaus would be able to conjure Ben after he died, of course. They had asked him for a while about it, but Klaus had been so damn high after the funeral and everyone had been upset with him and when he had spoken about Ben, he had still been high. And, according to Klaus himself, he couldn’t see or conjure any ghosts whilst high.

But right now, Klaus isn’t high.

He opens his mouth to speak when the front doors open. Both he and Klaus turn to face the door, curious, as footsteps hurry in and Diego yells for Grace. At the sound of urgency in his tone, Luther rises to his feet and hurries out of the kitchen, followed closely be Klaus. Grace is already half-way down the stairs, coming to meet Allison and Diego there. He freezes when he sees Five being carried by Diego, limp and unconscious.

“Hey, hey, what happened to him?” He asks, hurrying forwards and catching up to their side.

“Dumbass decided not to tell anyone he got shot a while ago,” mutters Diego, carrying him up the stairs and into his bedroom whilst Grace drifts off to gather supplies from the infirmary; Klaus follows after her after a moment of conflict, teetering on the stairs.

“When the hell did he get shot?” Luther asks, eyes stuck on the bloodstain on his jumper. Diego lays Five down on the bed and then nods to Allison, who comes close and fumbles to hold Five upright whilst Diego tugs off his blazer and then sweater.

“No clue. Kept going until he passed out, didn’t say anything about it,” he says.

At the sound of clicking heels approaching down the corridor, Luther steps away from the doorway to let Grace in, carrying with her an IV drip and stand. Scurrying behind her is Klaus, arms full of medical supplies that he dumps on the end of Five’s bed for Grace, who immediately begins to tend to him. Luther grimaces at the wound and glances away, turning to Diego and Allison.

“What happened? Did you find Harold Jenkins?”

“No,” sighs Allison, leaning against the wall. “No one was in the house when we got there.”

“We did find some real creepy shit with the Umbrella Academy, though. Old posters of us, our faces all burnt out. Fucking creepy.”

Luther’s eyebrows knit together at that and he gives Diego a look, but Allison nods her head, backing up what he says. “He must have something against us,” she says.

“We should keep going,” Diego adds, and Allison raises her eyebrows at him and he blunders on. “We’re running out of time, now. We need to keep going after him.”

“We need Five,” says Allison, gesturing at him. “And he’s unconscious. We should wait for him to wake up, at least.”

“And we’ve not got the time to wait for him,” insists Diego. Allison presses her lips together, frowning. “Look, he wasn’t at his house and there wasn’t another address on his records, but there was another relation. His grandmother. We should go check out around her place.”

“Records?” Echoes Luther, only getting more confused by the minute.

“We found Harold Jenkin’s criminal records,” explains Allison. “He killed his father when he was a kid, just got out of jail. Turns out he’s also Vanya’s boyfriend – the guy who came in with her during the meeting. They’re both gone now.”

Luther’s life the past few years has been ultimately boring, and he now thinks that perhaps some higher power is trying to make it up to him by filling this past week with a hundred different plot twists and scenarios. He scrubs a hand down his face and Allison simply nods at his reaction.

“You think he took her with him?” He asks.

“Best bet we’ve got,” she sighs, looking faintly disturbed. “But… I just don’t know. This whole apocalypse deal is… insane.”

He thinks that might be a bit of an understatement for it. “Vanya could be in danger,” he says, a little reluctantly after her outburst at the meeting earlier, but she has no idea who Harold really is, and she has no way of protecting herself. “Klaus and I can wait for Five to wake up. You two should go try and find them.”

Allison pauses, still looking conflicted, but then she turns to Diego and sighs, nodding her head. “You’re right. Okay, we’ll go try and catch up with them – they couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll phone you if we find anything, and… you phone us when Five wakes up, yeah?”

“Of course,” Luther agrees, and he turns to watch Grace applying a bandage over his wound. In doing so he misses Klaus reaching out to snag Diego’s wrist just before he leaves the room, asking something he doesn’t catch, before finally letting him go with Allison.

Klaus leans against the wall and Luther turns to look at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Guess we ought to just… wait for him to wake up, then,” he says, and with a sigh, Klaus resigns himself to sitting down on the floor and looking out the window. Luther takes up guard near the bottom of Five’s bed and turns his gaze to the equations scrawled all over his room.

###

Five does not wake up until the next morning. (Or, at least, not properly, but he is changed when he wakes up so Luther assumes he must have woken up briefly during the night after he and Klaus had gone to sleep.) Allison had phoned in to tell them she and Diego had to phone in to stop at a motel for the night and that they would continue looking in the morning, since they had no real location but had to work off leads around the place. Klaus slips onto the phone after him, which is a surprise to Luther, requesting to talk to Diego. He speaks quietly enough that Luther doesn’t hear what he says, and he is too distracted by a thud coming from Five’s bedroom anyway.

“Woah, take it easy, Five. You shouldn’t be up yet.”

Five slaps at his hands, kicking aside a book that he tripped over and fell into his wall because of. “It’s not that bad a wound,” he says dismissively. Luther gives him a dubious look, then turns to give Klaus, hovering over his shoulder, the same one, and Klaus shrugs helplessly as Five weasels out of his bedroom and heads in the direction of the staircase.

“Doesn’t mean you should be running about already,” he says. “You need rest-”

“I got a full night of it, I’m fine. What I _need_ is coffee.”

Luther resigns himself to not winning this argument, and simply follows Five downstairs and into the kitchen where he begins to set about trying to make himself a drink before Klaus takes over, pointing at his chair. For some reason, Five doesn’t make any comments to Klaus but abides instead, sitting down and letting him make the coffee.

“Where’s Allison and Diego?” He asks.

“They’re out,” says Luther, glancing at Klaus. “They’ll phone if they need us or find anything.”

Five hums, brows furrowing in thought. Then, turning in his chair and discarding the coffee Klaus made him, he says, “I need to think,” and promptly disappears with a flash of blue that makes Klaus flinch violently.

“Klaus?” He asks, hesitant, voice soft, and Klaus forces his eyes open and shoulders down a little. He blinks a few times, exhales, and waves a hand to dismiss Luther.

“I – I’m going to the garden,” he mumbles, rising to his feet and drifting out of the room. By himself in the kitchen, the air and the silence feels suddenly suffocating. Luther stares at the empty chairs around him and he can’t help but feel disheartened.

###

“I didn’t want to interrupt, but I brought dinner.”

Klaus’ gaze drops to the plate he holds in his hand and he frowns, but ends up reaching out to accept it. He had been up here nearly all day, and Luther might be worried about that usually but he had managed to coax him down to get lunch earlier, so he lets it slide for now. He picks at the food Luther brought him now, moving it about his plate and taking small bites of it, and Luther tilts his head to the side to gaze outside at the darkening sky.

Neither Allison or Diego had called again. Or, if they had, Luther had not been the one to get the call, and Klaus hadn’t mentioned any, though Klaus has been quiet for the majority of today.

“How are you doing?” Luther asks, turning to look at him again. Klaus’ shoulders slump as he sighs and he gives up on his feeble attempt at eating while obviously so distracted.

“I – I have a bad feeling,” he states. Luther arches an eyebrow questioningly, urging him on, and so he shifts on the spot and averts his gaze before continuing. “I don’t know why, or what for, but… I just have a bad feeling. Maybe we should have went with Allison and Diego. Or maybe we should go now.”

“You think?” Luther asks, and Klaus shrugs.

“Dunno. But it’s the only thing happening here that could go wrong.”

Five hadn’t had much to say either, much to his dismay. He had all but holed himself up in his room or elsewhere, stuck in his own thoughts, and thus left Luther to do much the same.

“I don’t know where they went,” says Luther.

“Jackpine Road,” says Klaus, quiet. “They were looking around Jackpine Road. Diego said something about a cabin near a lake that they were gonna check out.”

Luther frowns at him. “How do you know?” He asks.

“I asked.” Klaus shrugs, setting his plate aside. “I just think that they shouldn’t be alone there.”

Diego and Allison were more than capable of holding their own against a single opponent, even if Allison was deciding to not use her powers, and Luther couldn’t imagine a situation in which the both of them would get overpowered easily.

But he supposes that if it were to happen, it would be by the guy who was capable of causing an apocalypse.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmurs, glancing back over his shoulder. “I’ll go to talk to Five.”

“Five can’t go alone either,” says Klaus, rising to his feet. “He’s hurt.”

Luther purses his lips. He doesn’t want to leave Klaus home alone, but he knows that at least Grace and Pogo would be here to look after him, and he has a point; Five can’t make it all the way out there by himself, and risk getting into a fight.

“Alright,” he says. “You know Grace will sit with you. I shouldn’t take too long.”

Klaus presses his lips together, shifting his weight from foot to foot, but he doesn’t say anything as they leave his garden and go to find Five.

Five, apparently, has a van they can drive. He doesn’t take much convincing either that they should head out after them. Klaus follows them up to the doorway and Luther turns, ready to tell him that he last saw Grace sitting by her paintings, but freezes at the sight of Klaus grabbing a jacket he hasn’t worn or touched in years; hasn’t even moved from its place hung up by the door in years. He pulls it on himself and his hands are shaking violently as he does.

“Klaus?” He utters, shocked.

Klaus swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he nods at the door. He struggles to find his voice for a moment before declaring, “I – I’m coming with you.”

“Klaus, you don’t have to-“

“I’m coming,” he says, voice firm, and he steps past Luther but freezes in the doorway, squinting out onto the dimly lit street that he hasn’t seen in years. He wraps his jacket tighter around himself and holds it in place, hovering on the threshold of the Academy.

Klaus does not like leaving the Academy anymore. Luther isn’t entirely sure why, but he has a little thought that it is likely related to the ghosts. Perhaps there are more outside, which would make sense, and Klaus does everything he can to avoid the ghosts.

“Klaus, seriously,” he says, reaching out to rest a hand on his brother’s trembling shoulder. “You don’t have to. You’ve done a lot these past few days.”

He has done so much these past few days. Luther only hopes Klaus realises how incredible he is doing; how much progress he’s made despite the worst happening to him.

He inhales shakily, filling his lungs, and lets it out slowly, and then he steps out onto the pavement beside a curious Five.

As shocked as he has been for the past few days, Luther numbly follows them out. He sticks close to Klaus and doesn’t mind when Klaus walks close enough to press his shoulder against his arm, or that he has to guide him in the direction they’re going because he keeps his head down and eyes firmly on the pavement.

He is eager to sit in the back of the van with no windows, letting him and Five sit up front, and he doesn’t say anything for the whole drive except to utter the location he knows. He pulls his knees up to his chest and sits in the back, staring a hole into the floor of the van, holding onto his upper arms tightly.

But he’s there, Luther thinks. And Luther is somewhat amazed by it.

###

It doesn’t take them that long to actually find the house. There are only three around the lake, and only one of them has Diego’s car parked outside it. They must have just arrived, Luther thinks, because otherwise they would have phoned, or left by now, and the lights are on in the cabin.

Klaus huddles close to him as Five leads the way up the cabin’s porch and to the front door, looking pale and jumpy, and when he steps through the door he all but falls backwards against Luther’s chest.

Luther can see over his head, and he can see why he stumbled as he did, and he suddenly feels dizzy and sick as well.

The heady smell of blood hits him first, before the sight processes properly.

Allison, laying in a puddle of her own blood and choking, whilst Diego, looking pale and half-conscious, swaying as he sits hardly half-upright, presses a cloth to her bleeding throat, his own shirt stained with blood that he doesn’t think is only Allison’s.

“Shit,” says Five, and he seems to trigger them into motion. Luther flies to Allison’s side whilst Five goes to Diego, trying to hold him upright a bit, and Klaus remains frozen in the corner, eyes wide and hands held up to his chest, shoulders hunched up to his ears.

His fingers are wet with blood as he takes over Diego’s poor attempt at stopping the flow of blood coming from the wound on Allison’s neck, but he’s shaking and his chest feels tight, lungs unable to draw in air. Allison’s eyes are glossy and unseeing, not even realising he is right there, and she’s dying – she’s dying right here, and Diego is hardly much better-

Klaus is tugging his shoulder, making quiet noises in the back of his throat, and when Luther wrenches his eyes away from Allison he sees Klaus pointing furiously at the van. He’s right. They need to go.

He lifts Allison as gently as he can, though she doesn’t react at all, and Klaus scurries over to Diego and Five, hooking one of Diego’s arms around his shoulders despite the way it makes him cry out in pain. They all but carry Diego to the van, where he all but falls down next to Allison. Klaus settles in the back with him, trembling hands covering the bleeding wound high on Diego’s chest whilst Luther does the same for the wound on Allison’s neck, and her eyelids are fluttering, and blood is trickling from her mouth, and she doesn’t even react to him trying to stop the bleeding, and Diego has gone still beside him, and Klaus is silent except for choked, high-pitched near-whimpers leaving his lips in that way when he wants to speak but can’t, and had he not told them to come then Allison and Diego would have died out here alone, but they still might die-

The ride back home is a blur. And probably illegal with how fast they go.

Luther carries Allison into the infirmary, yelling for Grace.

Five and Klaus stumble behind him, dragging Diego with them. Klaus streaks blood through his hair and can’t make his hands steady enough to follow Grace’s instructions on how to help Diego further than taking his ruined jumper off, so Five steps forwards to take his place.

Luther holds Allison’s hand as Grace works on the nasty wound of her throat and he hardly remembers the drive back, or dashing inside, or sitting down.

Klaus gives blood. He is the only one who can, and it’s incredibly lucky that he has been sober for as long as he has now, though with the amount he has to give for both Allison and Diego, it leaves him paler than usual and having to sit down to try and combat his dizziness.

Five sits down nearby, suddenly looking as old as he really is. Klaus is shivering. Diego is unconscious. Allison’s hand is heavy in his.

Luther feels very tired.

###

Diego is the first to wake up. Squirming on the bed, his face pinches in pain, and Klaus stands up and then sways, having to throw out a hand to hold himself up for several moments before moving to Diego’s bedside. Five, too, hurries over, and Luther sits up a little more but can’t bring himself to leave Allison’s side, not yet.

“Don’t move,” says Five, placing one hand on his shoulder. “Just relax, Diego. You’re at home in the infirmary – you’re fine and Allison is fine, too. Just relax.”

Diego’s gaze bounces around the place until he settles and one of his hands come up to gingerly ghost over his chest, fingertips running along the bandage covering the long slash there. “A-Allison?” He stammers, trying to sit up only for Five to push him back down again.

“Is over there, resting. She’s fine. Me, Luther and Klaus went after you both and found you in the cabin and brought you back,” he explains. “Diego, what happened out there? Where’s Harold Jenkins?”

Diego exhales slowly, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. “We – we got there, and it was just Vanya in the house,” he says. “And she – fuck.” He scrubs a hand down his face, turning until he can find Allison and relaxing a little. “It was Vanya,” he says. “Vanya did this.”

“What?” Both Luther and Five say simultaneously, and Luther pulls himself away from Allison to come closer to Diego. “What do you mean?”

Diego swallows, skillfully avoiding their gazes. “Vanya did this to us. Dad – he was lying. Vanya has powers.”

Silence stretches out between them following Diego’s statement as it settles in, and Klaus takes a few steps back until he can sit down again and Luther shakes his head.

“Diego, that’s impossible-“

“I know what happened, Luther,” Diego snaps, but his voice is raspy and weak and the force of speaking makes him grimace and squirm on the infirmary bed. “We got there, and the whole place was crazy. Crazy wind, and Vanya was playing her violin, and she said – she said she was doing it all. That she had powers. Allison… “ Diego pauses, swallowing and toying with his bottom lip.

“What about her?” Luther urges on. Diego’s eyes flick to him briefly and then away again.

“Allison remembered, when we were younger, Dad said Vanya was sick. She had to be… kept somewhere else, for a while. And Dad made Allison r-rumour her into thinking she was ordinary. We all forgot about it, we were young, but it was a lie. It was all a lie.”

“You’re not kidding,” says Five, face incredulous.

“I’m afraid he is not.”

Everyone startles slightly, turning to look at Pogo as he shuffles in, accompanied by the steady tap, tap, tap of his cane.

“Pogo?” Says Luther, mind reeling, and he sighs.

“I believe it’s time your father’s secret came out. Master Diego is indeed correct. Miss Vanya has powers just like the rest of you, but Sir Hargreeves decided at a young age that… it was necessary to control them. They were too much for Miss Vanya to control and she was a danger to herself and others. Sir Hargreeves had her stay in a room built in the basement to accommodate her powers and made the hard decision to have Miss Allison rumour her into thinking she was ordinary for everyone else’s safety.”

Diego slumps into bed with a bitter, breathless laugh, and Luther’s body sags with shock. His eyes search out Allison, still blissfully resting and unaware of what is going on. “How old were we?” Asks Five, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Four years old,” answers Pogo. He looks regretful and apologetic, but Luther can’t help but wonder how he can feel that whilst hiding the truth for years, and showing no signs of telling Vanya the truth even after Reginald died and he had no obligation to hide the truth.

“How dangerous?” Luther asks, eyes narrowing.

All of them are dangerous, of course, and it is hard to imagine small, _ordinary_ Vanya to be so powerful that Reginald would go as far as to have Allison rumour her, when he didn’t take a precaution to even numb Ben’s powers, who would be argued to have the most dangerous powers.

Pogo presses his lips together and looks away. “There was… an incident in which Miss Vanya injured Sir Hargreeves.”

“’Course, the moment he gets hurt he just r-rumours her powers away,” Diego scoffs, waving one hand lazily in the air. “Fucking hell.”

“Christ,” sighs Five, scrubbing his hands down his face. “And she’s out there with Harold Jenkins.” Five frowns, looking thoughtful, and then he turns around and says, “I’ll be in my room. I need to think,” before disappearing.

(Klaus still flinches at the flash of his powers.)

Luther makes his way back to his seat beside Allison, eyes falling onto her face, and he wonders how none of them would have remembered such a thing.

But his entire childhood is being rewritten.

At some point, Diego falls back asleep, exhausted and aching (and dizzy from the way he realises he needed stitches) and Allison remains asleep and Five remains elsewhere. Klaus stares off into nothingness and Luther doesn’t know if he’s just stuck in his thoughts or if today has been too much for him.

###

He ends up guiding Klaus upstairs to his bedroom when he finds he can bring himself away from his injured siblings’ sides. Klaus doesn’t say anything to him on the way up, but he does comply and settle down on his bed. Luther lingers beside him, and then lingers in his doorway, almost hoping his brother would do or say something, wishing he could see that life in his eyes that he had yesterday when they found his stuff from the moon, but there isn’t even a spark of that fire there. Instead he seems more focused on the blood under his nails.

He steps outside, conflicted on whether he should return to Allison and Diego or if he should try and talk to Klaus. He could get a wipe and try and clean the blood from his hands – he knows Klaus hates blood. It could be doing him worse.

But then the front door opens. And there’s only one member of the family that isn’t here.

Cautious, Luther creeps towards the staircase and watches as Vanya enters the Academy, her footsteps slow and quiet, her face uncertain. She looks around, trying to listen for any sign of anyone being here, and she – well, doesn’t quite perk up upon seeing Luther descend the stairs in front of her, but she is relieved to find someone here, at least.

“Luther,” she sighs, taking a few steps closer and then freezing. “Are they…”

“They’re alive,” Luther says, and his throat feels tight. Only just. Both of them came close, and Allison won’t be able to talk. They only pulled through thanks to Klaus being able to donate as much blood as he did, and now Klaus is pale and tired and reverted back to his quiet state that he had been progressing from.

He comes off the final step and approaches her carefully, body tense, and there is still blood on his sleeves and under his nails.

“What happened?” He asks.

Vanya looks away briefly, and her face contorts. “We had an argument,” she says. “And… things got out of control. Luther – I didn’t mean to hurt them. You have to believe me. It was an accident, and I was, uh, angry, and I just… it just happened, Luther.”

Her voice wavers as she talks.

He knows she wouldn’t have hurt them on purpose.

(Only she already did, with that book of hers.)

But Ben is dead, and Five had been assumed dead. Allison and Diego could have died. Had things gone different, it could have only been him and Klaus, and who knows how Klaus might have dealt with that, and it might as well have just been him on his own.

(Like on the moon for all that time, all alone.)

The argument got out of control.

(Like Vanya’s powers, urging Reginald to supress them.)

Someone got hurt.

(Like they did before.)

Five is wounded. Diego nearly died. Allison nearly died. Klaus is hurt.

What might happen if he lets her in to see them? Lets her get close to his siblings that he is supposed to protect? Even if he has to protect them from one of their own?

(Like how he should have been able to protect Ben from himself.)

He needs to talk to the others. But if they are all in one place, all weak and injured and vulnerable, then it’s too easy to hurt them all – on purpose or by accident.

“Are they in the infirmary? Can I-“

“No,” Luther says, a little too quick. Vanya blinks at him, flexing her hands. “No, they’re not,” he says, and a thought occurs to him. Vanya is dangerous right now, Vanya nearly killed two of his siblings, and Vanya can’t control herself enough to not accidentally hurt anyone else, and maybe she would if pushed too hard anyway. Luther needs to protect them all, needs to keep everyone from harm’s way and make the best decision in a shitty situation.

“They’re somewhere else,” he says. “Come with me.”

They go to the elevator. Vanya shifts uncomfortably, guiltily, and there was a reason Reginald suppressed her powers, right?

(Like the reason he had for locking Klaus in a mausoleum?)

(The same reason he had for sending Luther to the moon?)

(Nothing.)

“Luther?”

As they step further down the hallway, Vanya seems to recognise it, and she turns and starts shaking her head. “Luther, wait – why are we here? Luther, please, I didn’t mean to-“

“They almost died,” Luther says, avoiding Vanya’s gaze and putting a hand on her shoulders, urging her further down the corridor and closer to a room full of spikes with a heavy door and lock on it. Despite her growing protests, it is easy to keep her moving. He hardly has to bat an eye.

“Luther – Luther please! Luther, wait!” She yells, stumbling and shoving uselessly against him.

It’s because she’s dangerous. She can’t hurt anyone in there, on purpose or by accident, and he knows that none of his siblings would survive a real attack right now, and he just – he can’t risk it. He needs to talk to them first, needs to make a plan, needs to know what her powers actually are, needs to make sure Allison and Diego (and Klaus and Five) are fine and safe (like he couldn’t do for Ben) and he can’t keep failing at keeping them all safe-

But Vanya’s hands pound against the door as he begins to close it, useless in her attempts to shove it and keep it open, and she cries, and yells, and sobs, and-

_“I thought you were just like him.”_

Klaus had thought he was like Reginald.

Reginald, who forced Klaus into the place of his childhood trauma and fear and locked him inside, ignoring his crying and screaming. He looks at Vanya and for a moment he sees Klaus, and his scars are open wounds, and the blood coming from them is the same as Ben’s smeared around the entire room, trickling from Allison’s throat and Diego’s chest and Five’s stomach.

He is just like Reginald, isn’t he? This is what Reginald would want him to do. Reginald would have made him do it to Klaus if he had to.

Luther suddenly feels sick, and his hands freeze on the door like ice, and Vanya keeps crying and Luther just wants to do something right, wants to keep people safe; wants to stop failing and hurting people, but he never can.

But he has been trying. And he has to keep trying.

Luther shoves the door back open and stumbles backwards from it, and Vanya freezes, shocked, in the doorway, staring at him because she expected him to go through with it and lock her in (because it’s what Reginald would have done and Luther would have done if Reginald told him so because he thought it was the best option and he trusted Reginald and believed he knew what was best for them.)

“Vanya, I… I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, voice weak. Vanya takes a hesitant step out of the room he had been about to lock her in, staring at him cautiously. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. I thought… I know you didn’t mean to hurt them.”

“I didn’t,” whispers Vanya in agreement. “Please, believe me, Luther. Don’t do this.”

“I believe you,” he rasps, taking another couple steps backwards. “I’m sorry. I – they’re okay. They’re in the infirmary. I don’t… I don’t want to do what Dad did.”

Vanya stares at him, and Luther can’t bring his gaze away from that room behind her, that mausoleum, and also the oak tree he would sit underneath on nice days with Reginald and believe every word he told him.

He knows, now, that his life was a lie, and now he has to struggle to dig out the seeds of doubt Reginald planted and gardened in his mind since he was a child, because he doesn’t want to be like his father; like Number One. He wants to be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts, as always <3


	14. I'm not the kid I was

Klaus is tired.

Exhausted, actually. The same kind of exhausted he would feel after a three week bender, coming off of all kinds of drugs, hungover, sitting in a dumpster and pathetically nibbling on a stale croissant that may or may not have already been half-eaten by a rat. Maybe even more exhausted than that.

His mind is still reeling from leaving the house. Still reeling from going somewhere new for the first time in years. Still reeling from seeing Allison and Diego, half-dead on the floor of that cabin, and the stressful ride back, and being too useless to help Diego and having to have Five take over for him. His head is still swimming and body shaky and weak both from shock and having to donate blood for both Diego and Allison. He’d rested in the infirmary afterwards for a while, with a drink and snack that Five had gotten him from the kitchen, and now he is in his room with Luther’s form sinking out of the doorway and he doesn’t remember the walk up to his bedroom.

His body sinks down onto his bed and his eyes flutter shut and he isn’t entirely sure if he falls asleep or if he just lays suspended in some half-conscious state, not asleep but not quite awake either. Not that he minds. He doesn’t think he could fight the beckoning lull of sleep if he began to thrash around in his bed. In fact, he has a suspicion that would only tire him out and make it arrive quicker.

Despite this exhaustion, however, one sound catches his ears and manages to wrench him back into his body, despite how far-off and quiet it seems. He tries to place it, tries to identify why it is rubbing his mind so wrong, and then he realises; it’s the sound of the elevator. For the life of him, he can’t remember when the last time was that he heard that, or that anyone actually used it.

It grabs his curiosity and refuses to leave him alone, makes him feel all uncomfortable and wrong inside, and no matter how still he lays or how slow he breathes or how exhausted he feels, he can’t shake it.

Begrudgingly, Klaus sits up in bed, raising one hand to rub at his eyes that disagree with the lights in his room (though he wouldn’t have it dark, never) and strains his ears. He can hear the faint rumbling of the elevator in work, but drowning it out is Ben, who turns to him when he sees him sitting upright.

“Klaus? You okay?” He asks, frowning, and Klaus waves one hand at him to dismiss him. Ben doesn’t mind the gesture, happy that he is getting a reaction at all, and so he slides over to his side. “You should lay down, Klaus,” he tells him. “Mom had to take a lot of blood.”

Klaus points at his open door. Ben is pulling a face. Klaus knows that face. Ben knows what is happening with the elevator and isn’t telling him. If Klaus would dare manifest him, he would kick him.

“What is it?” He asks in a grumble, splaying one hand out on his dresser as he braces himself to stand up. Slow breaths, eyes on his feet, waiting until the world stops spinning.

Ben shifts uncomfortably, looking away, and Klaus gives him a pointed look.

“It’s Luther,” he finally says, and Klaus wonders whatever might Luther need to use the elevator for, but then Ben adds, “and Vanya.”

Still, it takes his hazy mind several moments to actually realise why Luther and Vanya might be in the elevator. First, of course, comes the realisation that – shit, Vanya is here – and that shit, Luther is with her by himself, and then – shit, Pogo had mentioned something about a basement, hadn’t he? A room built to suppress Vanya’s powers, hidden beneath their feet.

Ben nods grimly at his expression. “You should stay here, Klaus. Luther – he knows what he’s doing,” he tries, grimacing as Klaus rising to his feet and once more pauses to steady himself.

Klaus tells himself whatever is happening in the basement is not what he thinks is happening, even if it is the only thing that can happen. It’s not that he doesn’t understand why Luther would try and put Vanya in there – he definitely does. He can see why it might be a good idea, too, what with everyone but Luther being weak or injured in some way, all vulnerable, and if Vanya were to lose control of her powers like she had before, then what would happen then? Allison and Diego wouldn’t survive that. Five wouldn’t be able to stop her. Klaus is as helpless and useless as he always is and wouldn’t be able to stop her or protect himself, either. Plus, with the shock from seeing Allison and Diego hurt as they are, and realising it was, indeed, Vanya who did that, and Luther’s ingrained need to protect everyone, it’s easy to see that it might seem like the best option. And maybe it is – he has no idea.

What he does know, however, is that if someone were to lock him in the mausoleum again right now after realising he killed Hazel and Cha-Cha with his newest revelation of his powers, a fairly similar situation to the one Vanya is in, it would not help a single person. Not at all.

As much as he might still be hurt from Vanya’s book, and as much as he might be afraid of her, honestly, thanks to the feel of Diego’s blood on his skin and the sight of Allison’s eyes rolling back in her head all because of Vanya, he just – it doesn’t sit right with him. If he were to sit down and let it happen without doing something, he would feel disgusted with himself. Whether it is arguing for Vanya to be let out or simply being able to talk this through with Luther.

When he feels steady on his feet again he begins the shuffle out of his bedroom, only to pause. His shirt still has blood on it, he realises, frowning down at himself. Finger streaks of it, hand prints, and it makes his stomach roll. He chucks it onto the floor and discards it for now, eager to fumble his way into a new, clean jumper, and then he continues out of his room.

Five must still be in his bedroom, although he hasn’t heard any noise from it at all and he doesn’t come out to investigate the elevator like Klaus is. He approaches it on his own, flexing his hands by his side and staring at the doors in front of him. It is still moving. It’s…

“It’s coming up,” murmurs Ben, and so Klaus takes a step back, mindful of Luther’s large frame. The elevator groans and rumbles up the shaft until hissing to a stop in front of him, and then the doors slide open and –

He does not expect to see Vanya stepping out of it first, followed by a pale Luther. His eyes search his brother over, but he doesn’t seem hurt – just shocked, maybe distressed. Vanya has been crying, evidently – still is, only just managing to compose herself.

“Klaus,” she says in time with Luther, and his eyes linger on his sister for a moment before shifting. Luther holds his gaze for several moments before he swallows. When Klaus gives a pointed look to the elevator, Luther simply shakes his head and looks away for a moment before coming closer when Klaus’ head droops and he has to make himself lift it again; when he narrows his eyes against the ever present dizziness making his head swim.

Luther sets a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, come on, you should be resting,” he murmurs.

“Did he-“ Vanya begins, before pausing, uncertain.

“He’s not hurt,” says Luther. “He had to give blood – you should still be resting.”

With his curiosity regarding the elevator sated, he can’t help but feel the exhaustion settle anew into his bones, and he ought to be resting but he shakes his head anyway and tests his tongue in his mouth for a moment, the tightness in the back of his throat, and then he pushes through it to say, “the – the basement. Don’t do that.”

Luther’s face falls and he glances at Vanya, briefly, and then away. He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not going to,” he says, and Klaus isn’t sure if he is saying it only to him or Vanya, though he supposes it probably goes for the both of them. “I’m – no. I won’t.”

He can tell Luther is conflicted, though. Or at least a little lost; unsure of what else to do, still wanting to keep Allison and Diego safe and unsure of how to do it now, and so Klaus stares at Vanya and her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks and how she stares back up at both him and Luther, a little afraid, very unsure of herself.

Klaus places a hand on Luther’s arm, nudging him slightly in the direction of the stairs. “Go check on them,” he murmurs, and then he makes a decision – not a very easy one, really, but it shoves its way to the forefront of his mind and really, it might not be an easy thing for him to do but he wonders if it might be a necessary thing. “Vanya, can I – can we talk?” He asks.

“Klaus,” murmurs Luther, his shoulders rising a little, so Klaus gives him what he hopes is similar to a reassuring smile.

“I think it’d be good if we talked,” he continues. “But you should check on Allison and Diego. Allison might wake up soon.”

Luther teeters between his decisions, looking between both his siblings, but he seems to think for a moment before he nods, letting himself trust them, and though he is hesitant, he turns and walks down the corridor in the direction of the infirmary.

Klaus nods his head at Vanya and then leads the way into their rooms combined, since he knocked the separating wall down between them. He perches himself on his bed near the top of it and then gestures for Vanya to sit when she simply hovers.

“I didn’t mean to hurt them,” she blurts. “I swear I didn’t. I didn’t know I could hurt them, and I didn’t mean to-“

“I know,” Klaus murmurs, cutting her off gently. “I know, and I believe you.”

Vanya swallows, looking as if she half-expected Klaus to start cursing her out, but he simply wraps his arms around his knees and looks elsewhere.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he repeats. His voice is soft, soft enough that Vanya has to shimmy a little closer to be able to actually catch everything he is saying. He can’t bring himself to raise his voice, or move his gaze. It’s hard enough to speak aloud as it is, and so she will have to simply pay close attention.

“I know it’s scary,” he says. “You must be afraid, and upset, and angry. It’s overwhelming. I can’t imagine how it is to be lied to like you were. But I know you didn’t mean to hurt them. I… I know how you feel, with your powers. Suddenly having them. Not being able to control them. To – to… hurt people, with them.”

“Klaus?” Vanya asks, her eyebrows furrowed, and Klaus burns a hole into his floor with his stare. It would be so easy to just stop talking and not start again; so easy to just give up and slip back into the comforting nothingness that is always there to catch him, and he is so tired without it, and so afraid without the numbness it gives him. But he knows there is a reason he hasn’t given up and let it take over him again, even if he feels it still rooted deep within his bones, whether he manages to push through it or not it is still there.

“I came back to the Academy,” he says. “Needed a place to stay. Dad made me get sober while I was here. Tried to make me work my powers again.” He pauses then, and his eyes leave their spot rooted on the floor to find Ben, sitting by his window and watching with a strange expression Klaus can’t quite place, but he nods encouragingly at him when he catches his gaze.

“We had an argument, after a while. A proper one. Worse than the ones we had when we were younger. And, uh. Dad, he-“ He pauses once more, swallowing and trying to figure out what words to say when they begin to escape them. “He has this, uh, graveyard. He owns a graveyard. You know how we used to do – personal training, alone. He’d take me there. And at the end of the graveyard, there was this old – uh. This – there was a mausoleum.” He spits the word out like he always does as if it is like poison on his tongue, and he flexes his trembling hands.

“Small thing. Dark. If I was – if I was scared – he tried to make me get over it, and he had a key for the – for it. He’d lock me in there. For hours, usually. Sometimes longer. Whenever we went there. And, when I came back here, years ago, and I got sober and we argued, he took me back there. Locked me in there again, with all the – with them. With ghosts. They’re angry, ghosts. Always angry. Yelling. But I was sober. Had been for a while. I was – stronger, I guess. Because I – I, uh. I – the ghosts – I manifested them. Made them corporeal. So they could touch things. So they were real. And they hated me – they all do. And now they could touch me, so they – they tried to. They did touch me – they wanted me dead, and they tried.”

He bites his lip, shakes his hands when he feels phantom ones on his wrists that aren’t really there, and he turns to look at Vanya. “I didn’t know I could do that. I don’t know how I’m still alive. I don’t know how to control it, and I’m – I’m scared. Dad locked me in there, and I didn’t know I could do that, and it hurt and I can’t control it. I know what you’re feeling.”

Vanya stares at him with wide eyes and a faintly horrified expression, and her eyes jump all over his face and he knows she is tracking the scars covering his skin left from that attack.

“Klaus,” she stammers after a moment. “I – I’m sorry, I didn’t know-“

“Nor did I,” he utters, a poor attempt at making a joke that ultimately fails and lands flat. “I’m just – I’m trying to say, you’re not – alone, here. In what happened and _here_. You have us here for you.”

Vanya closes her mouth, still looking shocked, but she nods her head once the words seem to settle in and she processes them.

Folding his hands close to his chest to hide the way they shake, Klaus averts his gaze once more and rests his chin on his knees. He debates letting himself go then, done with what he really wanted to say to Vanya, but he forces himself to keep talking.

“Luther’s trying too. He’s been through a lot this week. He wants to be better for all of us – that’s including you.”

Vanya shimmies on the bed slightly, getting more comfortable. “I almost killed them, though.”

“You didn’t mean it,” he says. “And we’ve all hurt one another. It’s the initiation process.”

At least that comment makes Vanya – not quite smile, but something close to it.

He shifts, leaning back against the wall, and maybe he ought to think about what has really happened, try and process it in a state that isn’t fuelled by adrenaline and fear, but he is suddenly oh so tired and can’t find any more motivation to cling on.

###

Luther is shaking him awake. Klaus’ neck hurts as he lifts his head, aching fiercely, and Luther gives him a sympathetic smile. “Hey,” he says. Klaus lets his gaze drift away to notice that Vanya is no longer in his bedroom with him. Luther notices the heaviness to him because he frowns and says, “sorry, I guess I should have let you sleep.”

Klaus finds it in himself to wave one hand, even if he desperately just wants to turn around and go back to sleep immediately. He quirks a heavy eyebrow in questioning and Luther purses his lips, glancing to the door.

“Allison and Diego are properly awake now. Five is around. We were going to sit down and discuss what happened – talk about Vanya’s powers. I’ll fill you in later, though, if you want to go back to sleep,” he explains. Klaus is very tempted to take that last offer; he doesn’t quite feel tired, but he has a lack of energy and motivation to do anything but lay down, and his head feels stuffed with cotton and he feels as if he has to squint at the world. But he knows this is important – incredibly important. He has to be there.

So, leaning on Luther without really noticing it, he makes his way downstairs with him and into the living room, and is pleasantly surprised to see Diego and Allison sitting there already. Allison has a notepad and pen in her hand and a bandage around her throat, and Diego is sitting stiffly, but his jumper covers the bandages around his chest. Five is there, too, wandering away from the bar with a glass of liquor (they ought to have a conversation about his drinking, too, a part of Klaus thinks) and Vanya is there, looking better than she had when he saw her.

Klaus sits next to Luther and does his best to listen, though he has to pull his attention back on track several times when it continues to wonder to nothing.

“Well, obviously, we need to start training,” says Five, leaning against the nearest pillar. “If there are any notes left in Dad’s office, we might be able to figure out how he first started. Or, like you said, you were doing it with your violin, too. The medication is gone, too, of course.” Five purses his lips and furrows his brows. “Though perhaps it would be better to wean you off them slowly. You’ll still be reeling from coming off them and you don’t need to juggle new powers with new emotions and withdrawals.”

Allison taps her pen against her notepad. Klaus can’t bring himself to read it, but whatever she had written seems to get an affirmative hum or head nod from everyone else.

“What about the apocalypse?” Luther asks at some point. Five stares down into the remnants of his glass before downing it, exhaling heavily afterwards.

“I don’t think that should be a problem anymore,” he says. “Harold is gone and we’re keepign Vanya’s powers under control.”

“What’s it have to do with her powers?” Diego asks, eyes narrowed. Five gives him a look as if horrified by how dumb he deems Diego to be.

“Isn’t it obvious? Vanya’s powers caused the apocalypse. Harold was an ordinary guy who somehow found out about Vanya’s powers and manipulated her into causing the apocalypse, though I doubt he knew the actual scale of her powers. I assume this revelation and fallout must have been much worse the first time around and caused the apocalypse. Accidentally, of course – I highly doubt you would have meant to do that much damage or were even aware you could.”

“You don’t – you don’t think that’ll happen this time?” Asks Vanya, voice small, and Five scoffs.

“No. Not this time. So unless you all manage to fuck everything up within a day, then… we should be fine.” He pauses, looking away in thought again. “The Commission I mentioned earlier, though… they won’t be happy that the apocalypse isn’t going ahead. We should be on lookout for them, but at least if they come then it does mean that the way we’re going averts the apocalypse. Stay close, for a while. I don’t think anyone should leave the Academy. Be aware. But otherwise… I think we should start with weaning you off your meds and then begin training so that you can control your powers.”

There is a beat of silence between them all before the hum of agreement overtakes them again, everyone content with the plan they have.

And so it goes.

Vanya talks with Grace to slowly wean herself off her meds and Five begins looking for notes on Vanya’s old training. Diego and Allison rest most of the time, of course, and Klaus finds himself in his room resting again, feeling drained and exhausted. Sometimes Luther is there, checking in on him or bringing a glass of water to set on his dresser nearby, and at some point Klaus recognises the smell of lavendar floating throughout his room; Luther having lit some incense for him, and though he doesn’t outwardly smile at it, he appreciates the gesture.

There isn’t much else to do. Grace checks in on him once, to make sure he is completely fine after donating blood. Luther eats dinner with him in his room and is encouraging even if he only gets half way through his meal. Vanya and Five retreat to Five’s room to talk. Ben hovers by his window, reading his book.

The sun begins to set, and Klaus is, admittedly, feeling a little better after taking the day to rest after the meeting earlier in the afternoon. For a while, he is content with just sitting upright and listening to Ben flicking through pages in his book and to the sounds of the city outside, and that is all there is. He thinks he might just be drifting off when something else happens.

A loud thud from downstairs. A crash from the end of the corridor. Footsteps, pounding down the corridor. Klaus jumps half out of his skin and lashes out quick enough to close his door in an attempt to hide himself, and then he turns his wide eyes to Ben’s.

It is odd, watching his brother stick his head through his door, but he hasn’t got much time to dwell on that thought because Ben is back in his room.

“I think it’s that Commission Five was talking about,” he says. “There’s – fuck, there’s a lot, Klaus. There’s more downstairs too.”

Obviously there’s a lot, Klaus thinks, because the dozens of gunshots going off are deafening. Klaus perches himself in a place not immediately seen from his door, clamping his hands over his ears, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. From the corridor outside of his bedroom he can hear enough commotion as it is; hear yelling, hear gunshots. He thinks he might be able to make out Luther and Five’s voice. Vanya is up in this corridor too.

Allison and Diego are downstairs by themselves, then.

It shouldn’t be surprise that things turn south very, very quickly. He can hear Luther and Five fighting for a while, but they must quickly get overwhelmed and overpowered, and maybe Vanya is being used as a hostage as well. And then the foosteps are marching downstairs and he can’t hear much else, but there’s no fighting. He isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

“No one else is up here,” Ben says, sinking back through his door. “They’re all at the bottom of the stairs. It’s bad, Klaus,” he says, sounding frustrated with how helpless he is, and Klaus screws his eyes shut and ducks his head even lower.

“They’re surrounded. Diego and Allison can’t do anything, and I think Five is hurt – or maybe he reopened that wound from before. Vanya can’t do anything and neither can Luther. There’s one woman, the leader of them all, I think, just talking to them. I think… they might be trying to goade Vanya into lashing out, I don’t know. They’re talking about the apocalypse, anyway.”

Klaus presses his hands even harder against his head and bites his lip.

He doesn’t know what Ben expects him to do. Klaus can’t do anything. He sure as hell can’t take out an entire army of time-travelling assassins, either. And if he even tried, well, it would be no use in a one man attack; his family are held at gun point. It would take a second for one, or all of them, to be shot dead.

Klaus is simply lucky that he didn’t leave his room and that they didn’t care to look in the rooms. At least, not yet.

Five said the Commission simply wanted the apocalypse to happen, and so that is what they are trying to do now, then. How are they even doing that? Maybe they are just trying to make Vanya lash out, though he has no idea how they might do that unless they start pulling triggers.

And Klaus is just sitting in his room. Like a coward.

But he can’t do anything.

(He looks at Ben and he knows he can.)

(He can’t do that, though. He can’t, he can’t, _he can’t_-)

There is a gunshot and Klaus jumps and makes a noise, and that – what if that was the first one? Which one of his siblings just got shot?

Will he die in an explosion of Vanya’s powers or will they find him and shoot him too?

“Klaus, _please_,” Ben says, though he doesn’t elaborate. They both know what he could be asking for, but neither know if that _is_ what he is asking for.

“I can’t,” Klaus whispers, ragged. “I can’t, Ben, I can’t, I can’t.”

Ben stares at the door, flexing his fingers.

Even if Klaus didn’t die, he’d be haunted by his siblings. All of them. Could he do that? Could he look at them in the eye and watch them grieve themselves and watch them turn into mindless ghosts that hate him?

(Ben isn’t like that.)

Klaus’ knees tremble as he stands up. He has to hold himself against the wall, afraid he might actually fall over. He opens his bedroom door slowly, so slowly, centimetre by centimetre, not making a sound other than the thunder of his heart. He holds his breath until his chest burns. He creeps forwards with silent footsteps until he can just peer over the railing, just catching sight of dozens and dozens and dozens of gunmen surrounding his siblings. Allison and Diego look weak, though putting up a brave face, and Five looks furious (probably with himself) and Vanya looks afraid and Luther looks-

At him. He has guns pointed at him by dozens of gunmen, effectively stopping him from moving an inch, but he looks around and often towards the stairs, knowing Klaus is still up there, until he manages to catch Klaus’ eyes. He looks so horrified, Klaus thinks.

_‘Run,’ _he mouths, looking pleadingly at him.

There is a woman in the centre of the group of gunmen, ruby red lips pursed around a cigar, and she looks overjoyed to see Five on his knees, restrained, with a gun to the back of his head. She taunts him, mocks him, going on and on about the inevitability of the apocalypse, how good he could have had it.

“Klaus,” whispers Ben. His hands rest on his stomach. Klaus thinks he might faint; he crouches by the bannister at the top of the stairs and clings onto it. No one besides Luther notices him.

Doing this is his idea of hell, really. It almost paralyses him with fear and he only manages to stop himself from crying or hyperventilating is because he knows that as soon as he is found out, then he loses his chance. He needs to make his decision before his time runs out, and Klaus knows there is only one option, but he can’t-

He has to. He knows he does. But-

“It’ll just be me, Klaus,” Ben tells him. “You can control it. I know you can. The other times – you didn’t mean to, you weren’t aware you were doing it. This time you know what you’re doing. You won’t get hurt, Klaus. It’s the only thing we can do.”

Klaus bites his lip until he tastes blood; blinks the haze from his vision.

He isn’t convinced he’s going to do it, but he nods his head once, jerkily, and Ben shifts into his line of sight.

“Klaus, you’ve done so well the past few days. I know you’ve got this. Just trust yourself,” he says, and then he begins to descend the staircase.

Klaus screws his eyes shut and balls his hands into fists and has to fight the urge to turn and run away; to retreat into his own head; to give up completely. He thinks it is the hardest battle he’s ever fought, honestly; his whole body lit up in instinctual fear of what he is trying to do – trying to willingly do. But his siblings are down there, and they had done it. They had averted the apocalypse. They had come together. After the meeting, the atmosphere in the Academy had been unlike it ever had been before; it had almost been nice.

Klaus can’t just stand there and let it all be destroyed.

That iciness seeps through his veins and he has to force himself not to try and immediately stamp it out despite how desperately he wants to. He has to let it blossom, let it spread, despite how terrifying it is. He lets it keeping going, chilling him to the bone, and then-

There are gasps, and then yells, and gunshots, and the cracks of bones. When Klaus manages to open his eyes, he sees Ben, and he sees the Horror; glowing blue, all spiritual and corporeal at the same time. The Horror goes for the immediate threats to their siblings, wiping them out before continuing on, eager to kill once more, and his siblings stare at Ben in utter shock and awe and confusion, until Klaus manages to find his feet and slowly begins to descend the stairs too, and they see how he is doing this. Then they shake themselves free of their shock and they fight – those that can. But with Ben’s Horror, the fight does not last long. Bullets can’t hurt the Horror and won’t even slow the Horror down at all.

When the only people that are standing are his siblings, the Horror retreats into Ben’s chest, hidden once more from sight, and Ben lets his gaze roam over his still-shocked siblings before turning to Klaus, stuck half-way down the stairs.

“Klaus,” he says, forcing his attention towards him rather than the nausea in his rolling stomach. “Klaus, you did it. You did it, Klaus,” he repeats, voice proud of him as he approaches. Klaus, focusing entirely on his connection to Ben (and only Ben, no others, even if he feels them prodding at him and trying to grip onto his connection and manifest themselves, he only channels his power to Ben) finally lets it drop when he realises that it is done, and he sags with the effort, sucking in a deep breath he had been holding.

Luther and Ben hurry up towards him and Luther manages to catch him as he begins to sink downards. Klaus lets him; his legs are shaking much too hard to hold him up by themselves.

“Klaus?” He says, and Klaus pries open his eyes he hadn’t realised he had closed. He turns his gaze to his other siblings, beginning to approach him slowly too, all alive, all seemingly unharmed, too, if only a little dishevelled. “Klaus,” echoes Luther, drawing his gaze back up to him. “You – you did that.”

Klaus nods numbly, and Luther holds him a little tighter.

“Klaus, you just saved us,” Diego says, and Five voices his agreement, and Allison nods eagerly, and Vanya too.

“We couldn’t have gotten out of that,” says Five, watching him tentatively. “Thank you, Klaus.”

Luther squeezes his shoulder. “Dad used to call you a coward,” he says, voice soft, and Klaus looks away shamefully. He had hidden while they had fought and been attacked. He had done nothing until Ben convinced him to.

“I don’t think Dad has ever been more wrong on something.”

And, for some reason, that just – hits him. When his life the past few years has been built up on fear and avoidance, and his siblings, all of them, are staring at him like that, and Ben is smiling and almost looking teary-eyed, who had been in the mausoleum with him and had been helpless, forced to watch him struggle since, and Klaus only ever wanted to be brave; when he was a child and the ghosts scared him every night until he was crying; when Reginald locked him in the mausoleum, again and again; when he ruined himself on drugs just to keep running from the ghosts. He only ever wanted to be brave.

And maybe he is, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	15. to be together

The world doesn’t end on April 1st. It doesn’t end at all. Or, at least it shows no signs of ending a month after it was supposed to. Klaus might even be tempted to say he dreamt up or hallucinated the whole apocalypse fiasco, but only an apocalypse would be able to bring about what came after.

Vanya has settled back into the Academy, taking a new room (she promises she isn’t mad at Klaus for tearing down the wall between their rooms, expanding his own – in fact, she says she is tempted to do the same with her own room and the empty one next to it.)

She has been weaned clean off her meds by now and has slowly begun her training, which Five mostly oversees. With her presence comes the sound of her violin echoing through the corridors once more, stronger and full of emotion that it used to lack, and Klaus finds himself listening to it for as long as she’ll play; whether that be from sitting in his own room and hearing it through the walls or coming to sit in her room and actually watching her play it. It is entrancing and he could listen to her play for hours.

Five redirects his energy onto helping Vanya train, and although he is obviously relieved that the apocalypse is over with, he has spent the last four decades obsessing over it and he struggles to adjust without it now, and needs a new mission to busy himself with. He takes longer to open up properly to them and Klaus thinks that Five isn’t even aware, for a long time, that he is in need of their support as much as they need him, especially when their first confrontation about his drinking ends with a huge argument and him calling everyone brainless, but he begins to open up slowly; seeking out company when he can’t bear to be alone or knows that he shouldn’t be; he talks about his time in the apocalypse, when he first got there, young and scared and all alone, and he talks about the Commission; all in small bouts, just enough to let slip some insights into his life without them, but it seems to help take some of that weight off of him.

Diego seems to float in and out of the Academy, sometimes staying there but often times staying at his own place, but he comes most days. Their close call with death seems to have encouraged him to do something with his life; Klaus thinks he might be tempted to give the police academy another go. Klaus also thinks that it is not just the close call with death that has done this for him; he has seen and heard him talking to Luther, or spending more time with him.

Luther is still struggling to process everything about Reginald and their childhood and just what Reginald did to all of them, but in the past month he has made a lot of progress that makes Klaus incredibly proud of him. He can see change in his brother; slightly less harsh on himself, being more gentle and less defensive and worried about everything; he is more trusting of them all. He has also picked up cooking, with Grace’s help. He presents new dishes at breakfast, lunch and dinner, looking proud of himself, and Klaus goes from swallowing it down with a forced smile to genuinely enjoying it as he progresses in skill.

Allison has stuck around the Academy, too, but as time passes and she doubles down on her efforts to regain custody of her daughter, she is also coming and going as she needs to be. Her voice has yet to fully recover, but she can speak now, albeit with a rasp. She and Vanya have grown closer and Klaus has joined in on plenty of their girls nights that they try to fit in.

Everything is a little awkward at first (which is a giant understatement) and they all fumble around one another like strangers rather than siblings, and there are arguments, and so, so many misunderstandings and revelations that just keep on coming as they open up to one another.

(Klaus never knew Reginald locked Diego in a tank full of water as a kid to test just how long he could actually hold his breath for. Klaus always had wondered why Diego never much liked swimming.)

While his siblings make progress, he does, too. Of course it isn’t instant, or at all easy – he never expected it to be, and he shouldn’t have expected it after pushing himself to the limits with his fears those last few days of the apocalypse week, but he can’t help but be dissapointed with himself when he loses his voice some days, or when the sun rises and sets within the blink of an eye, or when he stares in the mirror and is surprised to actually see himself staring back, or when he places his hand on something and the sensation of touching something leaves his mind reeling for minutes.

He has good days and he has bad days. Some days he wakes up and he gets himself ready and goes downstairs to meet Luther and Diego in the kitchen, always the first up, and watch as his sisters come down after him, followed lastly by a coffee-seeking Five, and he enjoys breakfast. He gardens out in the courtyard with Grace and Luther, and he starts drawing to occupy his free time, and some times he can even manifest Ben – for extremely short periods of time at first, hardly more than a couple of minutes, leaving him shaking and sick with fear, but it builds up and Ben manages to speak a few times to their siblings by himself.

Of course, there are other days where he feels sucked dry of life and can’t find where his body starts or ends and wonders if it is really his and how it can be when he doesn’t recognise his own hands or his reflection, but on those days Luther is by his side, like he always has been, and so are the other siblings; making sure he doesn’t just vegetate all day in bed, making sure he eats, that he’s comfortable. There are nights he wakes up breathless and dizzy with fear with the phantom sensation of hands grabbing at him, and the first time he tries to leave the house, not spurred on with the need to ensure his siblings aren’t dead, with Allison to go to the grocery store fifteen minutes away he has a panic attack hardly two minutes from the Academy. He has yet to try and go out again, but maybe some day. Just not now.

(He isn’t there to witness it, but Luther comes into his room one day with an idea. A week later and the mausoleum has been destroyed. Admittedly, that knowledge lifts a weight from his chest he didn’t know had even been there. As if someone has unlocked the shackles binding him to that place.)

It is… hard, being all together again in the Academy. Seeing his siblings again. Talking to them. Harder than he anticipated. This had never been an option; he had never considered this might ever happen. And yet, here they are, and Allison is painting his nails, and Vanya is playing her violin and smiling, and Five is making snarky comments to everyone but watches them with a small smile when he thinks he isn’t seen (it might be cheating to use Ben to spy on him) and Diego comes back from a day out elsewhere with the iced coffee he knows Klaus likes, and Luther sets down a dish of steaming food that smells like heaven and makes his mouth water and he looks proud of himself and happy, a light to his eyes that Klaus hasn’t seen perhaps ever.

There is Dave, too. He comes often, integrating easily into their shambles of a family, managing to make them all like him easily. He is more excited about Klaus’ progress than Klaus himself, but it seems to rub off a little on him that yes, perhaps he should really be proud in himself. Dave brings donuts for all six living members of the Academy and learns their favourites quickly, and he talks to Klaus whether or not Klaus talks back, eagerly sharing how he found a new plant in a store that he thought would fit right into his garden. He helps Luther build that hanging chair (finally) in said garden and helps him expand it, and he makes Klaus laugh – real, genuine laughs that feel foreign in his chest.

That kiss in the garden before is forgotten, and Klaus does feel a little guilty for doing that to Dave when Dave hadn’t wanted to do that or anything like that with Klaus, but he understands it now. Though sometimes Klaus thinks back to a lifetime ago when he would frequent clubs and bars and could land himself a bed for a night with hardly more than a flutter of his eyelashes and sway of his hips and a part of him bubbles up with frustration at how he currently is, wishing he could just be normal again, wishing Dave would see that, wishing Dave would stop treating him like he is helpless and weak and pathetic and would just touch him – Klaus realises that none of these thoughts stem from a place of having any real desire for that – only the desire to try and force himself back into what he was before the incident, and that it is unhealthy.

And he is perfectly content with how he and Dave are now, anyway.

Dave knocks at his door before entering, even if it is open and he can see Klaus turning to look at him.

“Saw Diego on the way up here,” he says, shaking the iced coffee in his left hand. “He told me to give this to you.”

He accepts it eagerly, twirling the straw obnoxiously in his drink to loudly stir the ice packed inside it, and Dave settles onto the chair (that Ben jumps from just at the last second) near his bed and he comments the purple paint on his nails, courtesy of Allison, and he delves into some ridiculous story of his family dinner last night that has Klaus’ stomach hurting from laughter. He eats dinner with them and manages to win Five over that day, too, with nothing more than a cup of coffee that Five deems ‘adequate’, the best they might be able to weasel out of him for now, and he grins victoriously.

There is chatter at the dining table, as if they are just managing to talk to one another normally and discuss their days, and Diego says something that makes Five honest to god laugh, and Klaus bares his teeth in a grin.

Dave leaves again at night with purple nails in exchange for dropping off a book he says Ben might like, and he grins at Klaus on the doorway, lingering on the steps outdoors for a few moments. He grins at Klaus in a way he thinks his cheeks must surely ache, and Klaus wonders, briefly, if he is thinking about the person that Reginald dropped off in his care, who wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed let alone grin back at him. He lets his thoughts wander back to the fleeting, disjointed memories of that place, tainted with constant fear and confusion, and then he brings himself back to the present.

And he steps out of the Academy, down the stairs and to Dave, and he wraps his arms around him and utters, “thank you.”

Dave hugs him back gently, chin pressing into his shoulder, and he squeezes his arms. “Don’t mention it,” he says back, voice quiet, but he is still smiling when they part. “I’ll bring those sugar waffles you like next time?” He offers.

“Fuck yeah,” says Klaus, and he waves Dave off before stepping back inside.

Poking his head out of the kitchen, Luther perks up at the sight of him. “Want to help me bake a molten cake?” He asks. Klaus has no idea what a molten cake is.

“Of course I do,” he says, slipping past Luther and into the kitchen.

(Ben calls him a horrible chef.)

(Luther tells him his cake isn’t that bad (it is) but they have plenty of time to practice. And he’s right. There’s plenty of time for that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this chapter to be a short little round-off kind of thing, so hopefully y'all like it  
Thank you for reading! And if I may humbly say I have plenty other fics that you could check out if you liked this one :)  
<3


End file.
